


Stolen Moments

by Snafu1000



Series: 'Moments In Time' Universe [4]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snafu1000/pseuds/Snafu1000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another 'Moments In Time' companion piece. Semi-random fluff & steaminess between Talia & her bard. Individual chapter ratings will vary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is where I'll be putting random fluff and drabbles that either don't quite fit with the storyline of 'Moments In Time' or exceed the PG-13 rating that I opted to keep it at. It will focus much more on the relationship between Talia & Leliana, though some of the other companions will be making appearances (never in the bedroom with the ladies...sorry, Zev).
> 
> For those of you who haven't figured it out yet, this is a FemWarden/Leliana romance, so if that's not your cup o' tea, the door's thataway.
> 
> Individual chapter ratings will vary & be announced in the opening notes. I'll also let you know just where in the timeline of the main story each chapter fits, as they will be posted in no specific order as the plot bunnies dictate. The first chapter is an alternate look at Chapter 30, from Talia's POV. I wanted to take a look at Talia and Leliana's first time through the eyes of the Warden. While this is explicit enough to warrant an M rating, I don't consider it overly graphic. I was more interested in exploring Talia's emotions and reactions than anything else. For those of you who prefer your intimacy more understated, 'Moments In Time' will continue in that vein.
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies: Talia & anything else you don't recognize are mine; all else belongs to BioWare.

"I've seen your dreams, remember?" Talia held the bard close, trying by word and touch to rebuild what Marjolaine had so efficiently torn asunder. The bitch _had_ known Leliana well...well enough to know where all her fears and insecurities lay and play upon them as expertly as a lute. It still galled the Warden that she had escaped justice so cleanly, likely never even seeing her death upon her. It would

have felt so incredibly satisfying to watch her eyes as Starfang found her heart...

She pushed away that line of thought; it was not what Leliana needed right now. Marjolaine was dead, and that would have to be enough.

"I remember. I think -" Leliana hesitated, her voice almost inaudible, her face hidden against Talia's neck. "I think that those dreams would be different now."

Talia's heart was racing, her chest so tight that she could barely draw breath, and coherent thought was all but impossible. Her emotions had swung so wildly within the past few minutes - from worry to exhilaration and desire, to embarrassment and pain, back to worry and now a half-formed hope – that her mind was in a chaotic swirl. The only thing that she was sure of was the way she felt, but she needed to know how the woman in her arms felt, as well. If all that Leliana wanted from her was friendship, she would give it, and never push for more, but -

She was useless at this. Put her in front of a man wielding sword and shield, and she could tell from the slide of his eyes whether he intended to lunge toward her right, to try to get around her defenses or drive straight in and attempt to pin her shield against her body. She could look across a field of battle and tell whether the opposing commander planned to commit his infantry in a charge or hold back and employ his archers.

But, Maker help her, she had no idea how to interpret the signals that Leliana was giving her. The kiss had set her blood on fire, but then the bard had pulled away, and now she was pressing so close that Talia could feel her heartbeat, the fingers trailing through the warrior's hair sending shivers down her spine, and...

She was afraid to ask, but she needed to know. Carefully, without loosening the protective embrace, she shifted until she was looking into Leliana's face, searching for the truth in her eyes. "How so?" she asked softly.

A faint smile curved the full lips, and Talia felt the hand slip from her hair, moving to cup her cheek with a gentle pressure. "I think they would be very much like this," Leliana whispered, drawing her into a kiss.

Talia closed her eyes, lips parting at the gentle press of the bard's tongue, meeting it hesitantly with her own, but then Leliana was twisting in her arms, rising up on her knees. Framing Talia's face in her hands, she tipped the Warden's head back and claimed her mouth in a skilled and deliberate assault: lips, teeth and tongue working in a flawless synchrony that Talia struggled to match, acutely aware of her own inexperience for perhaps half a dozen racing heartbeats before the kiss drove everything else from her mind.

She was barely conscious of the bard's hands dropping to the hem of her tunic and drawing it upward until she was forced to break the kiss to allow the garment to be dragged over her head. She shook free of it impatiently, then grabbed Leliana's shoulders and pulled her back down, the bard's sensual laugh sending a coil of heat twisting through her. Teeth nipped gently at her lower lip, a flickering tongue teasing her briefly before sweeping back into her mouth. Hands were on the strip of cloth that bound her breasts, nimble fingers tugging at the lacing, and then it was gone, and the hands were _on_ her breasts, and she gasped at the feather-light touches that circled her nipples, feeling the flesh tighten almost painfully as the heat surging beneath her skin intensified.

She started to protest when the bard broke the kiss again, but the murmur turned into a moan as soft lips trailed kisses along the line of her jaw. There was a moment of confusion as she felt teeth closing delicately on the lobe of her ear.

_My ear? What-_

A sudden rush of heated breath and the sweep of a tongue along the curve of her ear, and any questions were obliterated by a searing wave of sensation that she had never imagined possible. Her fingers curled tightly into Leliana's tunic as the bard explored her ear, then her neck, with excruciating thoroughness, her hands drifting from Talia's breasts down over her belly, up and over her ribs, around to her back, down and back up to tease her breasts again, the ceaseless caresses stirring the fire in her blood even higher.

She tugged at Leliana's tunic with an awkward urgency, and the bard drew back far enough to help her pull it off. She had the briefest moment to stare wonderingly at the Orlesian's creamy skin, the soft curves of her breasts and the darker hue of her nipples in the shadows of the tent, and then Leliana moved forward again, and there was the glorious warmth of skin on skin and another hungry kiss to lose herself in.

She tried to mimic her lover's actions, wanting to bring Leliana as much pleasure as she was feeling, but the bard maintained control, deftly pressing her back onto the blankets, lips trailing down her throat while her hands loosened Talia's trews, easing them down her legs and taking her smallclothes in the same agile movement that brought her mouth to the level of Talia's breasts. Something caught between a whimper and a groan escaped her as Leliana's tongue traced a wet circle around first one nipple, then the other, and then the bard's lips were on her, sucking gently, teeth scraping lightly over the oh-so sensitive flesh, while one hand moved to attend the other breast.

Talia's fingers tangled in Leliana's hair, torn between pressing her closer and pushing her away; it was heaven, it was bliss, but the rising crescendo of arousal and desire was overwhelming, and -

"Maker!" She'd been so preoccupied with what the bard was doing with her mouth that she'd barely noticed the hand slipping between her legs until an electric jolt of pleasure brought her shoulders up from the ground, her fingers digging into Leliana's shoulders in a helpless reflex.

Her lover's head came up, the blue eyes watching her with amusement and more than a little worry. "Are you all right, dear one?"

"No...I mean yes...I mean..." Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "I just...wasn't expecting..."

"But do you like it?" The lips curved in a way that suggested that she already knew the answer, but her eyes held the faintest shadows of doubt and fear.

"Yes," Talia assured her fervently. "It just doesn't seem quite fair." Her fingers loosened their grip, moving over the bard's skin carefully, entranced by the softness but unsure how to proceed. "I mean, I'm not really -"

A gentle finger to her lips silenced her. "You'll get your turn," Leliana promised her with a smile that stole her breath. "Right now, I want to please you."

Nodding, almost dazed, Talia allowed herself to fall back, closing her eyes and surrendering herself to her lover's skill. Gentle fingers slipped into her, a thumb stroking and circling in a rhythm that had her hips rocking in a helpless response, and all the time, those soft lips moved over her skin, finding places that she had never known could feel so damn good. Twice, those touches and kisses brought her to the edge of – _something_ , urgency building in her, a coiled energy demanding release, only to slow and allow her to slip back from that unknown brink.

The third time it happened, her eyes flew open. "What are you _doing_?" she demanded hoarsely.

"Enjoying myself," Leliana replied calmly, lifting her head from where she'd been nibbling at the warrior's collarbone (and when had _that_ unlikely spot become so sensitive?). "You are, too, I hope?"

"Yes, but – why don't you -" she broke off, staring helplessly at the bard.

"Why don't I...what?" A hint of mischief in those blue eyes now.

"I don't _know_!" she burst out, nearly boiling over with frustration and raw need.

Again, the sultry laugh that turned her bones to water. "I think it's time I showed you then, no?" Without waiting for a reply, Leliana's lips descended onto hers, the kiss heated and hungry: demanding, _commanding_ a response that Talia gave wholeheartedly. The fingers began to move again, no longer teasing, knowing just where and how to touch to push her quickly back to the edge. She hung there for an endless moment, then tumbled over with a startled cry that was muffled by her lover's kiss. Wave after wave crashed through her as she clung to Leliana, the bard continuing to stimulate her, keeping her balanced on the peak of ecstasy for what seemed like forever, then bringing her down slowly with the gentlest caresses, her lips feathering soft kisses over the Warden's face.

She opened her eyes, staring wonderingly at the Orlesian. "Maker, but you are beautiful," she said softly, her hand coming up to trace the curve of a cheek.

"As are you, my Warden," Leliana replied, her expression tender, but with a healthy dose of smugness beneath. Talia shivered as the bard withdrew her fingers, watched as she raised them to her lips, her half-lidded eyes never leaving Talia's face as she slowly licked the juices from them. "And you taste divine."

Curious, Talia caught her wrist and drew the hand to her mouth, her tongue flickering out for a cautious taste. Not bad, but the slightly parted lips were a much more alluring target, and her fingers slid into the auburn tresses, drawing Leliana down into her kiss, tasting herself on her lover's tongue.

"My turn?" she inquired a bit breathlessly when they parted again.

"If you like," Leliana agreed readily, lying back and drawing Talia toward her. The Warden complied eagerly, then hesitated, caught between desire and anxiety. Her hands, perfectly suited to wielding a sword, dealing death, suddenly felt far too clumsy to touch the beauty who watched her so expectantly.

"What's wrong?" Leliana asked softly.

"It's just -" Talia hesitated, her fingers not quite touching the alabaster skin. "I don't know how...I mean, I've never -" She stopped, tried again, managing to voice her greatest concern. "What if I hurt you?"

The bard shook her head vehemently, insistent hands pulling Talia to her as she whispered, "You won't. You can't, I promise you, love...just touch me, love me, please?"

The entreaty in her voice melted away any further hesitation, and the Warden closed the last of the distance between them, kissing the bard tenderly. Her hands moved over the silken skin in careful caresses that grew more confident as Leliana guided her, arching hungrily into her touch, shifting to bring other areas into reach, her hands leading Talia's, then leaving to roam over the warrior's body as they kissed.

The kiss...Maker, but she suspected she could lose herself in _that_ for hours at a time: the softness of her lover's lips against hers, the velvet heat of her mouth, the unbelievable intimacy of their tongues twining, teeth nipping, moans caught between them. Even the need for breath was an unwelcome intrusion. When lack of air finally made her break away, Leliana tipped her head back in an unspoken invitation, and Talia let her mouth begin to follow the paths that her fingers had taken, her tongue tasting the salt of sweat and the sweetness of the skin beneath: the pale line of the bard's throat, the contours of her ear (she was still amazed that it could be so sensitive, but Leliana's soft moans confirmed it), the curve of her collarbone and the hollow of her throat, always coming back to those lips, that kiss.

She was dizzy, her mind and body afire with the heady knowledge that _she_ could do this, make her bard writhe against her and cry out in pleasure, banish the sorrow from those beautiful eyes and replace it with a desire that burned as bright as any flame. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the memory of that beautiful skin torn and bloody, almost lost to her forever, and she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker. Bolder now, she slipped lower, her hand moving to cup the soft weight of a breast as her lips brushed over it, testing its texture with a slow sweep of her tongue.

"Maker, yes!" Leliana's breathless affirmation was accompanied by the feel of her fingers curling into Talia's hair, drawing the Warden even closer as the arch of her back pressed the breast more fully to her lips. "Talia, please!"

She needed no more encouragement, taking the taut peak into her mouth and sucking gently, then harder as Leliana urged her on. She could feel her own desire rising anew, the molten heat pooling low in her belly, and when the bard's legs wrapped around her, hips rolling in an insistent rhythm, her attentions became even more fervent: licking, nipping, sucking at her lover's breasts, fingers kneading at their fullness, the mewling cries that escaped Leliana growing ever more needful.

Then the bard's hand on the back of her neck, drawing her upward again as another hand caught her wrist, guiding that touch lower, that sweet Orlesian voice purring in her ear.

"I need you, Talia. Now." Her lips were claimed in another searing kiss as her touch brushed over soft curls, eased gingerly into the need-slick folds, uncertainty returning to slow her, but then her fingers slipped into a silken heat; Leliana's hips rose to meet her, pressing her even deeper, and the bard's throaty moan made her breath catch in her chest.

"Oh, yes," the Orlesian breathed, blue eyes holding Talia's as she moved with growing purpose, rocking into the motions of Talia's hand. "Yes, my love...with me."

There was a moment of confusion at the words until Talia felt the bard's fingers entering her again, their sure touch sending her own arousal spiraling upward once more, and the world dissolved into passion, need and increasingly urgent motion, soft moans and breathless cries mingling in the still night around them. A sudden, sharp intake of breath and Leliana's body surged against her, fingers thrusting deep within and curling slightly to touch -

_Holy -!_

Pleasure exploded through Talia like lightning arcing through a storm cloud, and suddenly she was falling with the bard, her face pressed into Leliana's neck, hearing her name among the liquid syllables of Orlesian that fell from her lover's lips. She couldn't understand the other words, but the meaning was clear.

"I love you," she gasped out amidst the shuddering throes of her release. "I love you, I love you." She kept repeating it as they moved together until they collapsed against each other, weak limbed and sweat damp. It seemed forever until she felt strong enough to lift her head, staring in awe at Leliana, more than a bit shaken by the sheer intensity of their union.

A giggle, low and musical, rose from the woman beside her.

"You're laughing at me!" Talia tried to feign indignity, but even if the bard hadn't been smiling at her so tenderly, she would have known there was no malice in the sound.

"I'm not!" Leliana protested, then giggled again. "Not really. You just look so surprised. It's adorable."

Talia felt a blush heat her cheeks, but she couldn't argue with the assessment. "I can't help it," she murmured, pushing herself up on one elbow and brushing a sweaty lock of hair away from the bard's cheek. Even that simple contact sent a pleasant frisson surging through her fingertips. "I've never.." She hesitated, searching for words that wouldn't make her sound like a total bumpkin. "How can touches feel so _different_?"

For most of her life, one touch had felt much the same as another. Granted, a hug from her mother had always been more welcome than those from Aunt Gunnora, but she'd always chalked that up to the habit that her great-aunt had of pinching her cheeks. Handshakes, comradely claps on the shoulder, casual hugs from friends and acquaintances: she had taken and returned those all in stride, but she had never before known how it felt to _want_ someone to touch her...to need it, hunger for it with an almost physical ache.

Her fingers drifted over Leliana's cheek, then along her throat, finding the curve of her collarbone and following it, then slipping lower to trace around her breasts, watching the nipples harden at the contact. Touching her lover felt almost as good as being touched by her, and watching her reactions...the bard closed her eyes and tipped her head back, the arch of her body pressing her breast into the cup of the Warden's hand, her hair tumbling about her face like a halo and her expression one of such rapt pleasure that Talia felt her mouth go dry.

"How and where you touch play a large part in it," Leliana told her with a smile, her hands slipping over Talia's body, one finger lightly tracing patterns over her belly that had muscles that the warrior hadn't known about quivering in response.

Maker, but she was ready to pull the redhead back to her and start all over again! With an effort, she returned her attention back to the conversation. "That's part of it, but it's more than that." She captured the hand that was doing such a thorough job of distracting her and raised it to her lips.

"Even if you just touch my hand or my cheek, my skin feels like it's on fire." She let her teeth graze the tip of a finger, the sudden quickening of Leliana's breath assuring her that the sensation was a pleasurable one. She turned her attention to the rest of the hand, watching the arousal rippling across her lover's face with no small degree of satisfaction. "And when you kiss me..." She pressed her lips to the slender wrist, feeling the flutter of the pulse beneath the skin, letting the tip of her tongue touch it. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the incredible intimacy when their lips met, the unbelievable, addictive feel and taste of the other woman's mouth, the fevered give-and-take of their explorations.

Those lush lips were slightly parted now, breath quickening in rising excitement, and Talia wanted to kiss them again...and again. "Is it because I love you? Is that what makes it different?" It was the only thing that made sense, but at the same time, it seemed such a simple explanation for the changes that had turned her world upside down.

"That's the other part." Something changed in Leliana at her words, the half-playful, half-seductive look giving way to something softer, more vulnerable, and in a heartbeat, she found herself pressed onto her back with the bard straddling her, pinning her shoulders to the ground.

"I love you," she whispered, searching Talia's face with that same, wistful intensity that had been present just before the had confronted Marjolaine. "More than anything."

"More than shoes?" The tease was not entirely frivolous; Talia wanted to push back the shadows that seemed to be trying to return, wanted to keep her beloved from ever being hurt again, as irrational as she knew the impulse to be.

It worked, earning her another of those sensuous laughs that sent tendrils of delicious heat swirling through her. "She's getting saucy now, is she?" The blue eyes gleamed with breathtaking promise for a moment, and then those soft lips were at her throat so suddenly that Talia couldn't help a gasp of surprise, her arms circling the bard's waist and pulling her closer as teeth and tongue took turns along the line of her neck. "I think it's time to put that adorable look of surprise back on your face, my love," Leliana whispered, "so pay attention."

"Am I going to be tested later?" She was more than willing to let the bard have her way with her for now, but she fully intended to reciprocate at the earliest opportunity.

"Oh, yes," Leliana assured her. "I am far from done with you this night, my love."


	2. Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. - This one is pure fluff, and as G rated as it gets. The first part occurs somewhere between Chapters 23 & 24 of 'Moments In Time', on the trip between Haven & Redcliffe, while the second part takes place some time after Chapter 32.

"You should let your hair grow out."

The comment caught Leliana by surprise, and she paused in the act of drawing the comb through Talia's hair. "Why?"

The Warden tipped her head back, her features cast in a shifting play of light and shadow by the fire that had been built up enough to cook a bit of porridge for breakfast. The sun would not be up for another hour, at least, but the closer they drew to Redcliffe, the more anxious Alistair became. It would be a cruel irony indeed if they had gone through so much to obtain the ashes of Andraste, only to return to find that the man they sought to save had died, but if the Maker had preserved him this long, surely He would continue to do so? Talia had eventually given up trying to reason with him and allowed him to set the pace, though she was quick enough to stop him when Leliana began to tire.

That she still suffered the lingering effects of her injuries was frustrating, and brought back long buried memories of the prolonged recuperation from the damage done by the Orlesian guards. The difference of course, was that she had been alone then - or as good as, but once they had departed Haven, pride had kept her from asking Talia to remain with her at night. She'd awakened more often than not instinctively biting back her screams as dreams of Orlais intertwined with images of the dragon savaging Talia's body. She would lay awake for hours until her body relaxed enough to drift back into uneasy slumber. The resulting exhaustion had further slowed her recovery, but the dreams had finally begun to fade, as morning after morning found her safe in the present, with the Warden waiting outside her tent for her hair to be placed in the now customary braid.

Talia reached up now, her fingers slipping through Leliana's short hair, and the bard was bold enough to tilt her head into the touch, savoring the contact.

"It would be pretty," the warrior said. "How long was it before?"

Before. Such a simple word, but there was an understanding in the dark eyes that made it clear that Talia knew just how much lay beneath those two syllables.

"Almost to my hips when I was much younger," Leliana replied. "Lady Cecilie loved to brush it and arrange it in intricate braids and curls. She treated me like a doll sometimes, dressing me in pretty clothes and shoes...but I admit I enjoyed it."

"Mother always tried to do that for me," Talia replied, a half wistful, half amused smile of reminiscence on her lips, "but after I was six or so, I wouldn't stand for it."

"I can imagine." The image of Talia fidgeting in a frilly dress was enough to make the Orlesian smile in response, despite her next words. "As a bard, Marjolaine made me keep it a bit shorter, but still long enough to pass as a noblewoman when needed. It fell to just below my shoulderblades, and when I was engaged in covert activities, I often wore it in a braid much like yours to keep it out of the way."

Covert activities. Sneaking into estates where she had already charmed her way past the usual defenses to find precisely where her target would be, whether documents to be stolen or a life to be taken. There and gone with none the wiser, and not even a ripple of disquiet in the conscience of her younger self. 'The Game', they had all called it in those days, and she had played it well...

"You don't have to be afraid to let it grow out," Talia told her, misunderstanding the reason for her sudden silence. She shifted until she was facing the bard, her hands on her knees. "Even if someone recognized you, I wouldn't let them hurt you." The sweet face was still shadowed by a guilt that she didn't deserve. "I won't let you get hurt again."

"We're in the midst of a war, Talia," she reminded the Warden gently. "People get hurt in wars. Besides," she added in a lighter tone, wanting to banish the unwelcome musings that such words invited, "if I let it grow out long enough to need the braid again, I might not have time to see to your hair in the mornings." It was a ritual that she'd come to treasure, and one that Talia clearly enjoyed, as well. The silky ebon hair now fell past the warrior's shoulders, and combing it, feeling it slipping through her fingers, was a relaxing sensation that helped to calm her ahead of whatever dangers they would face that day. Talia never sat so still as she did when the bard was tending her hair, and her expression when she was finished was as close to placid as was ever seen on her face.

"I could braid yours," Talia offered in a deliberately offhanded manner.

"You?" Leliana cocked an eyebrow at the tomboyish Warden, letting her skepticism show.

A sly grin touched the corners of Talia's mouth, and her hands reached back, nimble fingers selecting locks of her own hair and beginning to weave them into -

"You little scamp!" the bard exclaimed as a rough but passable braid began to take shape. "How long have you known how to do that?"

"I take it out each night," Talia replied with a shrug, looking pleased with herself. "It was pretty easy to feel how it was arranged, so I started trying to redo it. Still need practice, though," she added with a grimace, letting her hands drop with the braid half done.

"Not bad at all," Leliana turned the girl's head, studying the results with a critical eye. "I suppose you'll be braiding your own hair in the mornings soon?" She kept her tone teasing, not wanting to show the disappointment that the idea caused.

"Well, no." Talia looked surprised at the suggestion. "I like having you do it," she went on. "It feels nice. I just thought that it would be good if I could do the same for you...if you let your hair grow out again, I mean." She looked suddenly uncertain. "But if you don't want to do it, I could -"

"Hush, silly." Leliana grasped the Warden's shoulder and turned her back around, pushing her firmly back into a seated position before the look on her face could betray her. "I enjoy braiding your hair. It's quite relaxing."

"Yes," Talia agreed, already stilling as the bard removed the half completed braid - it really was a bit too loose yet - and began to comb it out again. "So, will you grow yours out?"

Leliana hesitated. She had been quite vain about her hair in Orlais, and not without reason, but even beyond the fear of being recognized, the long, auburn tresses were a part of the past that she cringed now to remember. Still, the thought of Talia combing her hair, running her fingers through it to plait the braid...

"I'll think about it."

* * *

"Talia?"

"Hmmm?" They'd both been drifting on the edge of contented slumber, and the Warden lazily opened one eye halfway when Leliana shifted to look back at her.

"Do you still want me to let my hair grow out again?"

Both eyes opened now, regarding her steadily. "I think it would look beautiful," Talia replied softly, "but only if you want to do it, too." Her lips nuzzled the bard's neck gently, her own hair brushing lightly over Leliana's skin. "You're already beautiful."

"Thank you, my love." Not simply for the compliment, but for the choice that was hers and the knowledge that, whether she let it grow, kept it short or shaved herself bald, her Warden would love her. "I think I will let it grow."

"Good." Talia kissed her shoulder, then nestled her head in the crook of her lover's neck, her arm draped around Leliana's waist.

"I love you," the bard whispered.

"Love you, too," came the sleepy reply. Within seconds, the warrior's breath had settled into a slow, peaceful rhythm. With a happy sigh, the bard snuggled back into Talia's embrace and soon joined her in slumber.


	3. Intensity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely M-rated, set between chapters 32 & 33, and is the episode that Zev was musing over in 33.

"We camp here."

Talia flung her blood-spattered shield to the ground, following it up with her gauntlets, gloves and helmet in noisy succession, letting her pack fall from her shoulders last. Her face was flecked with bits of gore from the bandits she had slaughtered, but the expression beneath the blood: taut with anger, was more concerning.

Leliana watched worriedly as the Warden paced an agitated path from one side of the clearing to the other as the rest of the group arrived and began setting up tents in silence, furtive glances shifting between Talia and the bard. The bandits they had encountered had not been unexpected, and even though their numbers had been surprisingly large, the group had dispatched them with only minor injuries...but none of that was the reason for their leader's current mood.

"Talia -" she began, moving toward Talia, but the warrior whirled so suddenly that she instinctively fell back a step.

"You were told to hold your distance and engage with your bow!" she shouted, her face a wild play of emotion: anger, guilt, fear, her body all but vibrating from energy left over from the battle, still dancing on the edge of the berserker's rage that she had not succumbed to.

"The trees were too close to permit it," the bard shot back in exasperation. They'd had this particular argument before, but she'd never seen Talia so agitated about it. "I can't shoot around corners, and I _do_ know how to fight with my daggers, you know." She might not be quite so skilled as Zevran, but she was more than capable of taking care of herself in close quarters. The fight had been fierce...savage, even, but they had won in the end, and without anyone getting seriously hurt; she had dispatched three on her own.

"You were given an order!" the Warden snarled. "If I can't trust you to follow instruction -"

"What?" Leliana glared at her and strode forward. "You can trust me to use my _judgment_ and do whatever the situation requires of me!" Talia backed away as she advanced; the anger began to slip, and for the first time, the bard caught a hint of something in those eyes that made her heart quicken in recognition, but then the guilt and fear rolled back into place, anger sparking anew like a hastily made fortification and Talia spun away from her.

"Fine!" the Warden snapped, stalking out of the camp, the vigorous snapping of branches and leaves marking her passage long after she was out of sight.

"What's gotten into her?" Alistair wondered, staring in the direction she'd taken with his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"A lovers' quarrel, it seems," Morrigan offered, her lip curling in derision. "You'll pardon me if I find a private spot to be ill?"

"Simply the unspent energy of a hard fought battle," Zevran observed sagely, with a faint smirk in Leliana's direction. "A bit of... sparring should burn it off, I should think; shall I follow her?"

"Kind of you," the bard murmured, rolling her eyes, "but I think I should probably deal with her, since it's me she's...angry with."

"Are you sure?" Alistair asked her innocently. "If you're going to spar with her, Sten and I could help."

She managed to keep a straight face and not blush, but only by studiously avoiding the Antivan's gaze. "Quite sure, thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me."

She slipped into the forest, easily following Talia's careless trail of broken branches and disturbed leaves, but her own progress was silent, the cautious and graceful stride of a predator. She heard Talia well before she saw her: the harsh rhythm of her breath, the scrape and clank of armor plate in motion, the hiss of a blade swept through the air.

She paused at the edge of the clearing, peering around the trunk of one of the massive trees. Talia had Starfang out, moving in a variation of one of the forms that she had learned from Sten, the steps resembling a stylized dance as she stepped in and out, thrust and withdrew, raised the sword to attention before dropping it in a complex series of sweeping arcs that ended with a two-handed thrust. The Warden's face and hair were damp with sweat and with the water from the nearby stream that she had used to clean the blood from her face and neck. Her eyes burned with an inner fire, fixed somewhere in the middle distance as she wove and spun around some imagined opponent. And her face...her face was all feral energy, focused completely upon this single activity.

A pleasant shiver coursed through the Orlesian. She'd seen Talia fight often enough, but her own role in their battles claimed the largest part of her attention at such times, and the evening sparrings did not bring out the same reactions: the deadly grace, the power, the intensity. She couldn't tear her eyes away, feeling the heat of desire building in her blood. In the few days since they had become lovers, their lovemaking ranged from tender to passionate, but Talia, while eager to learn, was always careful, always controlled, as though afraid of hurting the bard.

Leliana intended to change that tonight.

She stepped from behind the tree, deliberately allowing her foot to come down upon a twig. The snap of the wood was faint, but enough to bring Talia around with her sword ready. She relaxed only marginally when she saw who it was, her eyes sliding away from those of her lover almost fearfully. "I need to be alone right now," she announced harshly, turning away and striding back to the stream. Laying her sword aside, she scooped water into her cupped hands and splashed it onto her face, her body all coiled tension and taut lines.

"I don't think you do," Leliana countered calmly, letting her cloak slip to the ground, sliding her daggers from their sheaths and moving forward, her hips swaying quite deliberately with each step.

Talia reclaimed her sword and came to her feet slowly, watching her in wary confusion: the bared blades were sending one message, but the subtle movement of her hips proclaimed a very different intent. "What are you doing?" she demanded irritably. "I don't feel like sparring right now."

"That's too bad," Leliana told her, "because I think it's time that I proved to you that I can handle myself in a fight."

The warrior shook her head, refusing to meet the Orlesian's gaze. "I won't fight you."

"Then you'd better at least defend yourself," Leliana warned her before lunging forward, daggers swirling in an intricate pattern designed to distract and confuse the eye.

Talia reacted instinctively, backing away hastily and bringing her sword up to parry the attack with the flat of the blade, but made no attempt to launch a return offensive.

"Stop it!" she barked, but the bard simply attacked again...and again. She _was_ good; there was no point in false modesty there, and while Talia was undeniably better in a straightforward bout, the warrior's refusal to fight back hampered her. Leliana pushed her ever harder as they spun about the clearing, watching the frustration building in her face. Timing would be everything.

Now...she slowed just a bit, her arms drifting wide as though from weariness.

"Enough!" Starfang fell to the ground and the Warden stepped in, hands capturing the bard's wrists in an unyielding grip. A single shake and the daggers dropped from her hands. Talia glared down at her wordlessly, breathing hard, eyes burning with anger and -

Abruptly, Leliana found herself pressed against the trunk of one of the massive trees, the sudden weight of the Warden and her armor nearly knocking the breath from her as Talia's lips crushed hers, the frantic kiss all awkward teeth and tongue and need.

_Yes!_ Exultation surged through her, and she met the kiss eagerly, matching Talia's urgency with her own, surrendering willingly when her lover refused to back down, moaning with pleasure when her Warden's tongue plundered her mouth, relentless and possessive. _Maker, yes!_

Then Talia was drawing back, panting, guilt and lust a chaotic swirl in her dark eyes. "I'm sorry I shouted at you," she said remorsefully. "I just saw you in the middle of that fight, and thought something might happen to you, and -" She broke of, struggling for words, and the bard could see the flames that she had so deliberately kindled begin to fade.

_Oh, no, you don't!_ "Shut up," she gasped, tangling her fingers in Talia's hair and yanking her back down into another kiss, hooking a leg up and around the Warden's waist, heedless of the bite of the armor, intent only on breaking through that damnable restraint.

An instant later and it was done. A low, hungry sound escaped the warrior, and Leliana felt her press forward again, lips and fingers moving heatedly over the Orlesian's soft skin. Talia growled in frustration when she encountered the barrier of the bard's armor, and suddenly the fingers were tugging impatiently at the buckles and straps that secured it, pulling it away piece by piece, her touch claiming every inch of skin as it was revealed.

Leliana tried to do the same for Talia's armor, but removing plate required considerably more cooperation than Talia seemed interested in providing at the present, and she soon gave up the attempt and clung to her Warden, shifting and squirming to assist in getting free of her own armor and clothing and gasping in delight as the last scrap fell away and she was pulled hard against Talia, the soft heat of the warrior's mouth and hands an exquisite contrast to the cold planes and hard edges of the armor.

She twined her arms tight around Talia's neck, their lips coming together in another fevered clash, one of the warrior's hands curling into her hair while the other pressed between them and down, fingers thrusting into her without hesitation and finding her already wet with arousal.

Leliana cried out gladly, the sound all but lost against her lover's mouth, both legs wrapping around the Warden's waist, feeling the hand in her hair slip down between her shoulders to support her weight easily as she rocked hard against the motions of the other hand. Talia might look slim without the bulk of her armor, but the months of bearing its weight had added muscle that her lithe frame concealed well, giving her a strength that still surprised and thrilled the bard. There was something almost unbearably erotic about being naked, utterly helpless in the embrace of a fully armored lover who seemed bent on bringing her to climax as hard and fast as possible.

And it was working. The frenetic energy of the earlier battle and the frustration of the argument fed into this new fire like dry kindling, her impending release less a wave than an inferno, consuming her so quickly that she could barely breathe. Gripping at the crests of the shoulder pauldrons, she leaned back, trusting that the hand splayed between her shoulders would continue to hold her safe – which it did.

She looked into Talia's eyes, letting her Warden see just how powerfully this impetuous ravishment was affecting her. Talia's eyes looked back, dark brown bleeding into black, nothing but hunger swirling like dark fire in their depths; the Warden's lips curled, teeth flashing in that wolfish grin that the bard had only seen in anticipation of battle until now. Then her head dipped, the wet heat of her mouth claiming a breast, nipping and sucking as her fingers continued to thrust deep and hard, and her thumb found the swollen bud of flesh, circling and stroking insistently. There was no art to her touch, only a passion as rough and urgent as it was honest, and it was like oil on the fire that was searing the bard's blood.

"Talia, yes!" Her body arched, hips bucking uncontrollably as the tremors rolled through her with unstoppable force. She let her head fall back, feeling Talia's lips move up the slope of a breast to her collarbone, then her throat, trailing fire with each fierce kiss. And still the warrior pressed her, bolder now than she had ever been, relentless and demanding, prolonging and intensifying the orgasm with every movement.

The sensations were overwhelming. Leliana had taken and been taken roughly by lovers before, but always there had been an element of uncertainty, of danger, that had kept a part of her alert, refusing to fall completely under the sway of pleasure.

Here she was safe, sure that Talia would never hurt her, and she let go willingly, relinquished all control, let her Warden's touch push her higher, and higher still, to the point where ecstasy bordered on agony, and she had to press the heel of her hand to her mouth to stifle her cries. It was sweet torture, glorious torment; she never wanted it to end, but Andraste's sweet mercy, she didn't think she could bear it much longer! She teetered for several racing heartbeats on the highest of peaks, heard Talia's sharply drawn breath, felt the sudden shudder roll through the armored body against hers and knew a moment of satisfaction that she had brought her lover with her.

Then she was slipping back, her limbs trembling and near boneless with repletion, and Talia's arms shifted, cradling her as carefully as if she were made of porcelain, lowering her gently to the forest floor and arranging her cloak beneath her.

"Leliana?" There was the faintest tremor of fear in the voice, and when the bard opened her eyes, she found the Warden kneeling beside her, wide-eyed with apprehension. "Did I hurt you?"

A gentle laugh escaped her. "Far from it, my love," she murmured, reaching a hand up to touch that dear face. Oh, she'd no doubt be sporting some interesting bruises later from the armor, but it had been a small price to pay.

Talia did not seem to hear her. "I shouldn't have," she muttered, shamefaced now. "That's why I left the camp. I wasn't mad at you. I mean, I was at first," she admitted, "and afraid for you, but when I saw that you were all right, I just wanted to -" She broke off, biting at her lower lip.

"Drag me into the forest and ravish me?" Leliana suggested with a slight smile, twirling a stray lock of dark hair around her fingers.

"I wasn't even thinking about dragging you into the forest first." Talia ducked her head, a flush darkening her cheeks. "I just wanted to feel you...all of you, right then. Wanting you so bad...it scared me. I didn't know what was happening. Was it...a bad thing?"

"Did you hear me complaining?" Leliana teased her, keeping her tone light as she slipped her fingers underneath the Warden's chin, lifting the worried eyes to hers. "Do you remember that night at Lake Calenhad? The storm and the tree, and what I said about needing to stare death in the face to feel alive?"

"Yes." Talia nodded slowly, comprehension dawning on her face, although she still wore that adorable look of astonishment that Leliana treasured precisely because she knew that it would become harder and harder to elicit as the girl grew more experienced in the ways of love. "Is that what it was, then?"

"In a way," the bard replied. "Life and death situations can have a tendency to induce...amorous responses in their aftermath. I've always found it quite a nice way to celebrate being alive...particularly with one that you love."

"Yes," Talia agreed, but then her forehead creased with uncertainty again. "Is that what you want, then?"

"All the time, you mean?" Leliana shook her head with a smile. "Not even most of the time, but a bit of unexpected intensity can be a pleasant surprise, on occasion. I could show you, if you like." She caught Talia's hand, her eyes holding the Warden's as she drew each finger into her mouth in turn, tasting herself and watching the effect on her lover as she let her teeth scrape lightly over the skin.

"Anything you want," Talia murmured fervently, the fire beginning to kindle anew in her eyes. "Anything."

The bard couldn't help a throaty chuckle. "Be careful about granting me such liberty, my love," she whispered, sitting up and sliding her arms around her Warden's neck. "I just may take you up on it one of these days, but for now, let's start by getting you out of that armor."


	4. Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another M-rated moment; this one takes place in Soldier's Peak, immediately after Chapter 38 in 'Moments In Time'.

"What did you say to Sten?" Talia asked Leliana as they walked up the stairs toward the room they'd been given. "He was looking at you like he wanted to toss you out a window."

The bard giggled. The fingers of her left hand were laced with Talia's, while the right held the oil lamp that lit their way through the shadowy corridors of the keep at Soldier's Peak. "I just caught him playing with a kitten. He tries to be so gruff and forbidding, but he's just a big softie."

"A softie? Sten?" Talia gave her a dubious look. The qunari was far more complex than the stories told about the race gave credit for, but she had yet to see anything in him that could remotely be described as soft.

"Perhaps not," Leliana conceded, a sly smile touching her lips before she shook her head, "but I don't understand him sometimes."

"I think that feeling is mutual," Talia agreed with a chuckle, opening the door to their room and stepping in ahead of the Orlesian. The fire they'd started earlier to bathe beside had burned down to coals, and the chill had begun to return to the air, but a generous supply of wood had been stacked beside the fireplace. It wouldn't take long to build up again. Definitely a nice change from the tent, Talia thought approvingly as a gust of wind outside rattled the window pane. She had taken a step toward the fireplace when Leliana extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

"Hey!" She fixed her eyes on the glow of the coals, waiting for her vision to adjust. "That's going to make it harder to –"

"Sshh." Arms wrapped around her from behind, the bard's body warm against hers, and her breath tickling Talia's ear. "Anything I want. Do you remember saying that to me?"

"Yes." She'd not soon forget that night in the forest, the passion that had flared between them. _Anything you want. Anything._ A pleasant chill chased its way down her spine.

"And do you trust me?"

"Of course," she answered without hesitation, covering her lover's hands with her own, but they slipped away easily, and a moment later, a strip of black silk was tied gently but firmly over her eyes.

"Then be still, _mon amour,_ " Leliana whispered. "I have a little game in mind."

"Pin the tail on the bronto?"

The bard laughed softly. "I think I can do better than that," she promised, her voice taking on the husky timbre that was for Talia alone. "The rules of the game are simple: you cannot see or touch me, nor move unless I tell you that you may."

"Where's the fun in _that_?" Talia grumbled, and Leliana laughed again.

"You'll see," she murmured, nipping gently at the Warden's earlobe before stepping away. "Do you wish to play?"

"Is this an Orlesian thing?" she wanted to know as she heard the bard step around her.

She could hear the sudden change in Leliana's breathing, and the brief pause before she replied, sounding suddenly uncertain, "I learned it in Orlais, yes. If you do not want –"

Hands touched the blindfold, but she caught them, drawing them down to her lips. "I was just asking," she assured her lover, kissing each hand gently before releasing it. "I do want. Play."

Soft lips brushed against her own, the gentle flicker of a tongue tempting her briefly before Leliana moved away from her again. A brief pause, then the clunking of logs being laid in the fireplace, a flare of golden light beneath the edge of the mask and a rise of warmth as the flames were coaxed back to life.

"If you want me to stop at any time," the bard said as she returned to her, lifting the hem of her tunic, "you have only to say so."

"I know that, silly," Talia replied, raising her arms obligingly to allow the garment to be pulled over her head, heat that had nothing to do with the fire dancing across her skin as Leliana's body pressed all too briefly against hers.

"Good." She could hear the smile in Leliana's voice. "No more talking, then." She stepped away again, and suddenly, all sound of her footfalls vanished. Deprived of sight, Talia stood motionless, her ears straining to catch any sound, but the next touch came without warning: hands slipping around her waist from behind, fingers dancing lightly over the skin of her stomach before loosening the drawstring of her trews as a kiss was pressed between her shoulders.

Bit by bit, her remaining clothes were removed in the same teasing manner, with occasional pauses and the faint whisper of cloth against skin as Leliana relieved herself of her own garments. After that, there was no sound at all, save that of Talia's own breath, the thrum of her heart in her ears and the crackling from the fireplace.

She stood naked, forcing herself to remain motionless as fleeting touches, caresses, kisses were bestowed upon her in silence, never knowing from which direction the next tender assault would come. Here, a hand sliding over the curve of her hip and gone; there, lips touching to the pulse at her throat, teeth nipping ever so lightly at the flesh; now, the hand again, cupping her breast as a thumb swept over a nipple that was already taut and tingling; and then, a fingernail tracing a path down her spine.

She sucked a breath between clenched teeth, curling her hands into fists at her sides as gooseflesh raced across her skin. She was determined to see this game through to its end, but each kiss, each knowing stroke of a finger further kindled her senses until it felt as though every nerve and muscle were on a razor's edge, and still her bard made not a sound.

Unable to use eyes or ears, she went utterly still, steadying her breathing and focusing on the eddying air currents around her with a predator's intensity.

There…she could feel the change in the moment before… _Maker_! A shudder rolled through her, but she did not move, waiting through more teasing touches until she was sure. At the feel of a soft kiss to the hollow of her throat, she reacted, wrapping her arms around her lover's waist and pulling her in, her lips claiming Leliana's hungrily.

The bard made a sound somewhere between a moan and a purr, melting against her for several moments before squirming away with a wicked chuckle.

"Naughty girl," she scolded the Warden playfully, her hands sliding down Talia's arms until their fingers laced. Talia allowed herself to be led forward, then pressed back onto the softness of the bed. "But it is interesting, the way the other senses sharpen when the ones that we normally depend on are gone, yes?"

"Yes," she agreed, tilting her head into the hand that caressed her cheek, then slid along her arm. "What now?"

"Something rather difficult to do in a tent," Leliana replied with a hint of mischief in her voice as her fingers circled Talia's wrist, drawing it over her head, and –

"Tying me up?" A laugh escaped Talia as she felt a soft loop slip over her hand and tighten: secure, but not too tight. "I thought I was supposed to do that to you?"

"I got tired of waiting," the bard quipped, securing her wrist to the bedpost and moving to do the same to the other arm. "You can tie me up after I'm done with you, if you like."

"I just might," Talia shot back, tugging lightly at her bonds. The material was soft enough that it would not chafe, but strong. "Silk? Where did you get these?"

"Old Tegrin had them hidden away the last time we met him," Leliana replied smugly, shifting to straddle her waist.

"The blindfold, too?"

"Yes." A hint of affectionate exasperation in her voice now. "I believe I told you no talking?"

"But –" The kiss silenced Talia and drove any remaining questions from her mind.

She let her eyes slip closed – not as though she could see anything anyway – and allowed herself to focus on the sweetness of her bard's lips, the welcome weight and press of her body, the gentle hands framing Talia's face and the scent of lavender soap still clinging to the Orlesian's skin and hair.

She tried to crane her neck to follow when Leliana drew back, but the bard placed a final, playful kiss on the tip of her nose and slipped downward, and the warrior let her head fall back to the pillow, caught between frustration, curiosity and anticipation. Lips trailed slowly down her neck, kisses alternating with soft bites and gentle licks.

The Orlesian took her time, exploring her Warden with a meticulous and exquisite care that quickly defeated Talia's attempts at remaining motionless.

"Leli!" she gasped, her back arching as fingers traced a slow pattern around her breasts, unable to keep herself from straining at her bonds, wanting to touch, _needing_ …this was _not_ fair!

The bard's only response was to lower her mouth to a breast, teasing it with a light graze of teeth and a delicate flicker of tongue before suckling at it in a slow cadence that was mirrored by the kneading motions of her hand on the warrior's other breast.

Talia caught her lower lip in her teeth, lost in darkness, silence, sensation, her body burning with a desire that intensified by the second, the throbbing heat between her legs making her shift beneath her lover, pressing her heels into the bed and rocking her hips in a silent plea that Leliana ignored.

Only after she had spent a blissful, tortuous eternity focused upon the Warden's breasts did she begin to slip lower, mouth gliding over the flat plane of her captive's belly, still keeping the same, maddeningly slow pace as she kissed and licked her way over every inch of skin, fingers stroking knowing paths to the spots that made Talia writhe even more. Her senses were reeling from the tactile stimulation made all the more intense by the absence of sight and sound, and her own inability to reach the woman who was teasing her so masterfully, working her lover's body to a fever pitch as easily as she had played her lute beside the fire that evening.

_Please._ Her lips formed the words soundlessly, then she found her voice. "Please, Leli!"

The husky whisper earned her a pause, and the feel of her lover's chin resting on her belly. "Please…what?" the bard inquired, a teasing lilt in her voice, and Talia could easily imagine the gleam in those blue eyes, the sensuous smile…which did absolutely nothing to cool the fire that raced through her veins. "Stop?" The question was accompanied by the feel of fingers brushing over the skin beneath her breasts and a slight but quite deliberate shift of Leliana's hips where she straddled the warrior's legs.

"No," Talia groaned, twisting her wrists to allow her fingers to curl around the silken rope, the muscles in her arms taut as she searched for words in the maelstrom of need and desire that swirled through her mind. "Just…take me…love me…please?"

Another brief silence, and then Leliana's voice, infinitely tender. "I already do, my dear one: more than life, itself, but how can I refuse such a sweet plea?"

She moved lower still, deftly parting the younger woman's legs and settling between them. Her fingers brushed lightly through the damp curls, and Talia shuddered helplessly, but her bard was still not to be hurried, kisses trailing over the curve of her hipbone and downward, along her inner thighs until the first, slow sweep of her tongue drew a gasp from the Warden. A single hand slid beneath her leg and took a gentle but firm hold on her hip, holding her motionless as Leliana focused her attentions in earnest, drinking deeply of her lover, altering the rhythm without warning: her tongue moving slow and soft here, quick and darting there. The fingers of her free hand stroked along the slick folds of the warrior's sex, finding and circling lightly around the sensitive pearl of flesh, then pressing into her, thrusting slow and deep.

_Maker's mercy!_ Talia's hands curled into fists as the heat in her belly coiled ever tighter, burning ever hotter as her lover brought her to the edge of release and kept her balanced there. She tightened her arms, pulling at her bonds, more from the need to do something than any real intent of trying to free herself, and the headboard gave a faint but audible creak.

Leliana paused briefly, her cheek resting against Talia's thigh, and the Warden could hear the change in her lover's breathing: quicker now, and a bit unsteady.

_"Je t'aime, ma chère,"_ she whispered before dipping her head once more, urgent now: her touches quickly coaxing Talia into a gasping, shuddering climax. Before the final throes had subsided, she was crawling back upward, fingers curling into Talia's hair to draw the Warden into a deep, hungry kiss. Straddling one of Talia's thighs, she rolled her hips against her lover in an insistent rhythm, seeking her own release.

Now, more than ever, Talia yearned to touch her bard, to bring her pleasure in turn. She met the kiss: lips, teeth and tongue sparring heatedly with those of her lover, and she drew her leg up, rocking to meet Leliana's thrusts. It was all she could do, but it was enough: with a low cry, the Orlesian pressed her face into Talia's shoulder, the tremors of her orgasm working through her until she gave a final shiver and stilled with a little sigh.

After a moment, she reached up and released first one hand, then the other, a single tug all that was needed to loose each of the bonds. Talia wasted no time, not even bothering to shake the silken ligatures from her wrists before wrapping her arms around her lover, her kiss fierce and her hands trying to touch everywhere at once.

Gentle fingers removed the blindfold, and she blinked in surprise, staring into crystalline blue eyes that searched hers. "Did you like?"

"I –" She hesitated, unsure just how to describe it, saw the bard's face fall and hastened to explain. "It was incredible, love," she murmured, "but I couldn't touch you…and I wanted to." Her fingers slid into the soft fall of red hair, and her lips brushed fervent kisses over the sweet face of her beloved. "I wanted to so damn much. It made it very…intense," she added after a moment's thought, tilting her head to nuzzle at the pale line of Leliana's neck.

"Mmmm…yes," the bard gave a throaty hum of approval. "That is part of the intended effect. Such games can be about control, but they can also be about trust." She drew back slightly, capturing Talia's face in her hands and looking into her eyes with a gentle intensity. "Thank you for trusting me," she said softly.

"Trusting you is easy," Talia replied as Leliana slipped the silken loops from around her wrists, inspecting the skin briefly for bruising and finding none. "I love you."

"Trust and love do not always accompany each other," Leliana replied, a shadow flitting briefly across her face as she glanced away, but when she looked back again, there was only love and desire in her eyes. "I love you, and I trust you, too," she said, pressing the silk ropes into Talia's hand with a faintly challenging smile. "Did you want to try turning the tables?"

Talia considered it. She knew by now where to touch to stir her lover to the greatest passion, and the notion of playing thusly with the bard, teasing her as she had been teased, had a certain amount of appeal, but –

She wrapped her arms around Leliana, trailing her fingers down the redhead's spine and felt the other's embrace tighten in turn. "Maybe later," she murmured, letting the bonds slip from her fingers as she drew her bard into another kiss.


	5. Forms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another G-rated moment, this one taking us way back to between chapters 3 & 4 of MIT (and prior to chapter 4 of 'A Dog's Life', for those of you who have read that one). I've mentioned the combat forms that Talia learned from Sten a couple of times now, so I figured I'd devote a bit of time to how that learning came about, and also take another look at the very early interaction between Talia & Leliana, while they were still in the first stages of getting to know each other.
> 
> I picture the Qunari 'forms' as closely resembling the katas used in many forms of martial arts, and I rather suspect that there is a Qun version of 'The Art of War' floating around Seheron somewhere.

Talia came awake with a jerk, teeth instinctively clamping against the cry that tried to rise from her throat. The nightmares had become so familiar now that she could almost predict when she lay down to sleep which one would torment her that night, and yet, when she was in the grip of one, the fear, the pain and the helpless rage were as new and undiluted as if she experienced them for the first time.

Brego whined softly, nudging his way under her arm, and she hugged him tight, trying to will away the image of Oren in the massive fist of an ogre, his tiny body shaken and flung against a wall. It was frequently thus now, with dreams of the darkspawn insinuating themselves into the memories of the deaths of her family until she could no longer remember upon waking what had truly happened and what was the product of her tortured imagination. Nights when only the archdemon put in an appearance were actually a relief.

"Talia?" Leliana's voice at the entrance to her tent.

The Warden gritted her teeth, fighting back a surge of weary irritation. The others had all figured out that she preferred to be left alone after her nightmares; if she became too agitated without waking, Alistair would rouse her, but carefully. She had come up fighting and bloodied his nose the first time he had done so. Only the Orlesian persisted in approaching her after she woke, one of the reasons that Talia tried to stifle any sounds, but evidently she had been less than successful tonight.

"I'm fine," she said, taking a drink from the waterskin that she kept beside her bedroll as she waited for the pounding of her heart to settle. She wasn't sure how long she had been asleep, but she knew that trying to drop back off would be a lost cause. Pulling on her boots and buckling her sword belt around her waist, she donned her cloak and stepped out of the tent.

Leliana had returned to the fireside; she glanced up as Talia emerged, her expression concerned. "It's still a few more hours until your watch," she said. "You should try to sleep; you need rest."

"I'm awake," Talia replied simply, relieved to find that Sten was the second person on watch. The qunari had glanced up briefly when she appeared, then turned his attention back to his sword, drawing a whetstone along the edge in slow, measured strokes. He, at least, would not press her.

The minstrel, on the other hand, seemed unconvinced by her statement. "But -"

"I'm awake," Talia repeated, resisting the urge to snap the words. Her anger was all too ready to lash out at any provocation these days, but she refused to let her companions be its focus, knowing that they were not its true cause. They'd find themselves facing darkspawn or bandits or maybe both tomorrow, and she could unleash her emotions then, losing herself in the savage satisfaction of battle. The release that it brought was always short-lived, but it was the only thing that helped at all. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

Leliana frowned. "Talia, you need to sleep. Maybe if you would talk about your dreams..." She trailed off helplessly, clearly knowing what the Warden's response would be.

Talia's fists clenched and unclenched beneath her cloak. Talking of what she had lost would not bring it back, talking of Rendon Howe would not bring him to justice, talking of the darkspawn would not make them vanish, but shouting this out to the Orlesian would accomplish nothing, either. "Get some sleep," she said again, moving deliberately to the opposite side of the fire and settling to the ground, sliding her sword from its scabbard and laying it across her lap. As she fished in her belt pouch for her whetstone, she heard Leliana's resigned sigh, but did not look up as the minstrel rose and made her way to her tent.

Brego sank to the ground at her side, and for several minutes, the camp was silent, save for the wind in the trees, the crackle of the fire and the scrape of stone on metal. Focused on the familiar activity, Talia felt the tension begin to ebb from her muscles.

"Your dreams disturb you." Sten's voice surprised her, and she looked up to find his unblinking stare fixed upon her, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Yes," she replied tersely, dropping her eyes back to her task.

"But they are not real."

"I know that when I'm awake," she said, clenching her teeth again, "but when I'm asleep and dreaming, it feels real. Can you tell when you're dreaming?"

"Most often," he answered, holding his sword at arm's length and tilting it to and fro in the firelight, inspecting the edge and nodding in satisfaction.

"Do you ever have nightmares?" she challenged him.

"Sleep is intended to restore the mind and body," Sten said, as though stating a fact that all should know. "Dreams that disturb sleep are self defeating. Nightmares arise from fear, and fear from uncertainty. If you know your place and your duty, as defined by the Qun, there is no uncertainty, no fear and hence, no reason for nightmares."

"Lucky you," she muttered. "Or are you trying to convert me?"

"That would be problematic, given your current status," the qunari replied.

"Because I'm a woman and women can't fight, right?" They'd had this particular discussion several days ago, soon after Sten had joined them.

"Yes." For some reason, when she had grown impatient with his stubborn logic and snarled that she didn't give a damn what he thought she should be doing, that she had a duty and she would fulfill it, he had ceased his argument and actually seemed to respect her a bit more for it...though only a bit. "You would still benefit from the discipline that the Qun teaches, however. If you continue to allow your emotions to rule your actions, you will in all probability not survive."

"And this is a bad thing?" She was trying for flippancy, but the bitterness could not be hidden. Some days - most days, all she wanted was an end to the pain and the memories, but day after day, oblivion eluded her.

The warrior's strange, violet eyes regarded her sternly. "Either you wish to do your duty as a Grey Warden and to bring justice for the murder of your family, or you wish to die. You cannot accomplish both without putting those that you lead at risk."

He was right, damn it, though that didn't make his words sting any less. The idea that any of her odd assortment of companions could die in their travels was one that haunted her waking moments, as the losses of her past stalked her sleep. "What do I do, then?" she asked, annoyance and dejection warring in her voice.

He stood, towering over her. "Come with me," he ordered curtly. "Leave your cloak, bring your sword."

She eyed him curiously as he strode away from the fire, then reached up to release the clasp of her cloak, leaving it pooled on the ground as she moved to follow him. "We can't spar without waking the others, can we?" she wanted to know as she slipped the whetstone back into her pouch. She wasn't even wearing her armor, and while she had seen enough of the qunari's skill over the past few days to know that he would not harm her inadvertently, she had little doubt that the flat of his blade would leave bruises.

"Sparring has its uses," Sten replied, stopping a short distance away, his form still dimly lit by the flames that reflected on his sword in a golden dance, "but there are other things that you must learn, if you are to be a true warrior. What do you see?"

She cocked her head, knowing that the question was not an idle one, but unsure what answer the qunari sought. "I see you standing in front of me with your sword," she replied at last, her voice rising slightly on the last word in an uncertain query.

His expression gave no hint of whether or not her answer had been a good one, but he nodded. "And what will happen next?"

She frowned, thinking, and at last shook her head. "Whatever you decide to do," she said. "How could I know that?"

"By being aware of what could happen," came the prompt reply. "What are the possibilities?"

"For you, or for anyone?"

"Treat me as an opponent whom you know nothing about."

She nodded slowly. "All right, you could sheathe your weapon, or attack me, or -"

"How might I attack you?"

She sighed, thinking back to their sparrings and the techniques that he had utilized. "You could try a straight hammer shot to kill me quickly, a side to side sweep to do the same, or you could try to disable me by taking out an arm or a leg."

"If I were to do that, what might be my purpose?"

Impatience rose up in her, but she restrained it. The qunari did nothing without good reason, and that likely included this line of questioning. "You could be trying to take me alive, for ransom or information; you might be trying to get me out of the way to get past me and attack someone within the camp. Or maybe you just don't like killing."

He nodded again. "Possible, but not a motivation that I would advise ascribing to an enemy. Assume that any foe that you face intends to kill you, and fight accordingly."

"So...I'm supposed to go through all this each time that I face an opponent?" Seemed like a good way to get cut to pieces.

"You already do," Sten replied, continuing in response to her look of disbelief, "You currently do so without conscious thought, and that is how it should be in true combat, but if you engage in this exercise when you do not fight, asking yourself not only what you see, but what could happen next, and how you would respond to it, it will become much more difficult to take you by surprise."

It made a certain amount of sense, particularly since she already found herself sizing up nearly everyone they encountered, wondering if they would try to collect the bounty that Loghain had placed upon their heads.

"Now." Sten's voice brought her attention back to him as he drew himself to his full height, feet placed shoulder-width apart with the sword held upright before him. Drawing a slow breath through his nose, the qunari released it as he pivoted slowly to the left, the sword dropping smoothly into a blocking position. His elbows flexed as he drew the blade back, then extended again in a slow thrust as he stepped forward with his right foot. He stepped back, turning on the balls of his feet until he faced the opposite direction, sweeping the sword in a waist high arc, then bringing it back to the ready position, then out to block, back, thrust...

Talia watched as he proceeded, each movement slow, measured, precise, his eyes slightly unfocused, fixed somewhere in the middle distance. He finished in exactly the same spot and position as where he had begun, drawing a final slow breath and releasing it as his gaze came back into focus.

"What was that?" she asked him quietly. The slow, formal tempo of his movements had almost seemed like a dance.

"You would likely not be able to pronounce the name in the qunari tongue," he replied. "The closest word in your language is 'form'. It is a ritual used to bring mind and body together, to improve focus and discipline, and to become one with your weapon."

She shook her head. It didn't make sense. "You were moving so slowly, anyone could have dodged your attacks, or gotten by your blocks."

"The forms are not meant to be used directly in combat," he said. "In the beginning, they are used to teach basic technique and improve memory. As a student becomes more advanced, their purpose shifts to one of control and meditation, discipline and skill."

"Forms?" she echoed. "How many are there?"

"As many as there are warriors who practice them," was the somewhat unhelpful reply. "I can perform twenty-three adequately."

She looked down at the Cousland sword. "And you want me to learn them?"

"If you wish to." As always, his face gave no indication of his own opinion on the matter, if he had one at all.

She stared back down at the sword, at the intricate casting of the quillions and the Cousland crest set into the center of the crossguard. What she wished, she could not have, and while she still could not see the use in these 'forms', there had been something oddly compelling about the deliberate, precise grace of the big man's movements.

"All right," she said at last. "Teach me."

* * *

Leliana peered through the slight opening at the flap of her tent, watching as Talia attempted to mirror the giant's movements. She had been awkward and stilted at first, but she learned with her customary speed, and could now execute a passable version of the first of the forms.

The brooding expression had faded from the girl's face, replaced by a look of intense concentration and interest. That was good...wasn't it?

With a sigh, she rested her chin in her hand. Theoretically, anything that took Talia's mind off of her losses should be good, but the Orlesian could not help be uneasy with the knowledge that the young Warden's only escape was into combat, in one form or another.

The respite that it granted was brief; every evening, by the time camp had been set up, the pain had returned to her eyes, the shadows there stirring all too familiar feelings within Leliana. The Chantry, the Maker had helped to dull her own pain at what had been done to her, but simple repentance was not enough to erase the guilt over the things that she had done. If she could help Talia, it would be only the smallest step toward atonement for her sins, but it would be a step.

It was more than that, though. If the girl continued to fight so recklessly, she would get herself killed sooner or later, which was likely exactly what she intended, consciously or not. The odds of two novice Grey Wardens stopping a blight was a long shot to begin with, and if those odds were halved...

Alistair was a sweet and earnest young man, and a skilled fighter, but the bard that Leliana had been could see that the group's true strength lay with the Cousland heir. On those rare occasions when both the battle rage and the weight of sorrow lifted from her, it was plain that she had been nobly raised and taught to lead as well as fight, but those moments were as fleeting as they were seldom, and Talia had so far rejected (always politely, but always firmly) every effort that Leliana had made to get closer to her, to offer her comfort and encourage her to talk about her hurt, and the things that haunted her dreams.

She had to keep trying; this could well be the reason that the Maker had sent His vision to her. Perhaps if she shared the pain in her own history, entrusted Talia with those secrets...but her courage faltered at the thought of it. She had gone past half-truths and evasions by now, and had lied when asked about her past. To reveal that now might well destroy any chance of Talia trusting her, as bitterly ironic as the fact was. It was disheartening at times, to realize how easily she had fallen back into dissemblance and falsehood, the trappings of the life that had nearly killed her.

_My Creator, judge me whole:_

_Find me well within Your grace_

_Touch me with fire that I be cleansed_

_Tell me I have sung to Your approval._

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world_

_And comfort is only Yours to give._

The words of the Chant soothed her, as they always did, and after a last peek beyond the tent flap, she retired to her bedroll, resolving to begin her efforts anew in the morning.


	6. Kadan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: A G-rated moment (and a newly written chapter), this one mainly between Talia and Sten, though I did find a way to work in one of my favorite banters in the game, between Sten and Morrigan.
> 
> This one takes place between chapters 19 & 20 of 'Moments In Time'.

_Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun._

He repeated the words to himself often, because every aspect of this strange land seemed mired in struggle. Everyone wished to be what they were not, to abandon the station to which they were born. An Arl wished to be a Teyrn, and slaughtered an entire castle. A general wished to be a King and abandoned his commander on the field of battle. With a Blight looming, this same general allowed the deaths of the Grey Wardens, the only warriors with the ability to slay an archdemon. This madness is so widespread that it surely must be a contagion of some sort, so he used the words to anchor himself, to remind himself of who and what he is.

He is Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the Antaam, and even if he can never return to Seheron, he will never become one of these kabethari, chasing after the wind. Nor will he be Vashoth, abandoning the Qun to serve the basra like dogs. The Arishok commanded him to learn the nature of the Blight; by aiding the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden, he would obey the Arishok's command, and if he could never return to deliver his report, at least his death in such an endeavor would restore some degree of the honor that he lost by killing those who had done him no harm, offered him no threat.

He did not brood over their deaths; to do so served no purpose. There could be no restitution; lives taken could not be restored. There was only atonement, and that could be found only in duty.

"You seem so deep in thought, my dear Sten. Thinking of me, perhaps? The two of us, together at last?"

He glanced sideways at the witch. He had not yet decided if her suggestive words were seriously meant or simply intended to goad him, but he had grown tired of them. It was unfortunate that the kabetharidid not do the prudent thing and remove the tongues of their mages, and even more unfortunate that the Warden would not be pleased if he were to do so now, but it was time to bring these foolish games to an end.

"Yes," he said simply.

"I -" Her golden eyes widened with surprise. "What did you say?"

"You will need armor, I think," he went on, looking her up and down thoughtfully. "And a helmet. And something to bite down on. How strong are human teeth?"

"How strong are my _teeth_?" She stared at him as if thinking he'd lost his mind.

"Qunari teeth can bite through leather, wood, even metal given time," he informed her calmly. "Which reminds me, I may try to nuzzle."

"Nuzzle?" her voice had taken on a strangled quality, and the Warden glanced up from where she was speaking to the mayor of Redcliffe, frowning slightly in puzzlement.

He nodded. "If that happens, you'll need an iron pry bar. Heat it in a fire, first, or it may not get my attention."

She stared at him, her mouth working soundlessly. "Perhaps it would be better if we did not proceed," she said at last.

"Are you certain? If it will satisfy your curiosity..."

"Yes." She nodded vigorously. "Yes, I think it is best."

As the witch made an attempt at a dignified retreat, he heard a giggle and turned his head to find the bard watching, blue eyes dancing with mirth. He turned away with a sigh. Was it any wonder these lands were so chaotic? Mages allowed to roam uncollared, women as fighters and spies, everyone seeming intent on abandoning their station in life to pursue what logic dictated they could never be.

And yet...

His eyes turned back to the Warden. _To call a thing by its name is to know its reason in the world._

So said the Qun, and the Qun was the only truth, but though she bore the title of Grey Warden, it did not feel like her name. Assassin, mage, spy, golem...even the other Grey Warden fit within the boundaries that their names implied, but Talia Cousland defied his attempts to name her.

She was a female, and a warrior, which should not be, and yet, her skill was undeniable, raw and undeveloped though it remained. Had she been a male, her potential would have marked her early on as destined for the Beresaad. She was a Grey Warden, but that duty did not define her; she hungered to avenge the murders of her family, but though she had come perilously – foolishly – close to dying in that endeavor in Denerim, the Circle mage's counsel seemed to have turned her from that path.

Her incessant questions were an annoyance, but her willingness to learn was commendable. She had freed him twice: first from the cage in Lothering and then from the dream that the demon had woven in the mages' tower. Both times, he had been resigned to his fate, accepting it as the inevitable penalty for his failures; both times, she had refused to accept what was and offered him another path – goaded him onto it, in the case of the dream. Just as she refused to accept that she could not be woman and warrior both. Just as she refused to accept that a sword lost in a nation at war could not be found.

It was foolishness at best, madness at worst. Had he come upon one such as himself, lacking both soul and honor, he would have killed them without hesitation, as the Qun demanded. It was not fear of death that kept him from returning to Seheron, but the knowledge that being killed on sight would mean that his report would remain undelivered, his duty forever unfulfilled.

So he followed this creature that he could not name, though her course at times seemed as sure to end in death as returning to Seheron would. He had sworn an oath, and if he could not fulfill his primary duty, he would perform this one. She accepted his counsel at times, refused it at others, and if he found her lack of logic frustrating, he had come to respect the strength of her will and her honor. He might not agree with the oaths she made, the causes she chose to champion, but he could not deny that once she had given her word, she kept it.

She approached him now, her expression one of resigned amusement. "Murdock says that Dwyn's holed up in his house on a bender. He's drinking," she added in response to the uncomprehending expression on his face.

"I see." Why anyone, much less a warrior, would deliberately choose to impair themselves was something he did not understand, but it was a ritual so common that it was a wonder that the Qunari had not overwhelmed the southern lands long ago.

She quirked a smile at him. "What do you say we go and sober him up?" She glanced over her shoulder. "Everybody else, get what supplies and repairs you need and meet back at the castle when you're done."

"You're sure, Talia?" Alistair looked concerned. "We could come with you." He tipped his head to indicate the bard, who also seemed worried.

The Warden shook her head. "I'm not looking for a fight; I think he'll react better to fewer people barging in."

The other Warden looked unconvinced, but the bard took his arm and led him away after giving them both a measuring glance.

"If fighting is required, I will be able to defeat the dwarf and his subordinates with no difficulty," he stated, wondering why the other two had thought their presence might be required.

"I know," she told him, "but I think they were more concerned about me avoiding a fight than getting into one."

He considered this for a moment, then nodded his understanding. "They believed it possible that you will lose control as you did in Denerim."

She grimaced and nodded, looking ashamed. "Yeah, that's pretty much it. Don't worry, though; Dwyn on his worst day couldn't make me as crazy as seeing Howe did."

She had lost control against other opponents who were not Howe, but since the episode in Denerim, she had been making an effort not to do so. It was too early to commend such efforts, since they had not been put to a true test, but there was also no point in mentioning again what he had said before and what she plainly already knew, so he simply nodded and fell into step beside her as she led the way through the village to the home of the dwarf.

They had been there once before, when she had shamed the dwarf and his subordinates into joining in the defense of the down against the undead creations that the demon in the castle had summoned. Why the dwarf had been fool enough to think that such things would be deterred by his locked door, Sten could not comprehend, but once drafted, he had demonstrated passable fighting skill.

Talia knocked on the door, waited through a few seconds of silence, then rapped again with greater force.

"If yer sellin', I ain't buyin'!" a voice from behind the door slurred. "An' if ya want somethin', I don' give a shit, so ya might as well go!" Raucous laughs rose up in the voices wake, along with the clink of glass against glass.

Talia glanced toward him and sighed, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the closed door. "Did you really want me to kick the door in again, Dwyn?" she inquired.

A brief silence, then, "Aww, crap." The scrape of chair legs across the floor and the door was opened by an unshaven human male. Talia stepped past him with a polite nod, and Sten followed her.

The dwarf was sitting at a table with two more humans, all of them holding cards, with a small pile of coins in the center of the table and foam-topped mugs at each chair. The stale air of the hut reeked of unwashed bodies and beer, and Sten parted his lips, breathing slowly through his mouth.

The dwarf glared up at Talia, dark eyes glittering between bushy brows and a bristling beard. "What d'ya want now?" he demanded. "You already caused me enough trouble."

"Trouble?" Talia regarded the dwarf with one eyebrow arched inquisitively. "From what I gather, the village is lining up to buy you beer now. Should I tell Murdock you want them to stop?"

"Sure, they're buyin' us beer," the dwarf said, then belched loudly, the fetid wave of his breath making Sten clench his teeth. "An' the next time this pisshole gets attacked by walkin' skeletons, they'll be poundin' on my door, expectin' us t'save their sorry asses again."

"Because we all know how often _that_ happens," Talia replied dryly, "but that's between you and them. I'm here about a sword that you bought from a merchant named Faryn who passed through here a few weeks ago."

"The qunari sword?" The dark eyes shifted briefly to Sten. "He one of their bounty hunters?"

Talia frowned. "Bounty hunters?"

The dwarf snorted. "Yeah. The qunari pay good money for the swords that belong to their dead. More'n that sodder Faryn knew. They think their weapons are their souls."

"The sword you bought belongs to Sten," Talia replied. The dark eyes turned back to him, the gleam in them becoming shrewd.

"Lost his soul, did he? They'll kill him for that, if they find him."

"You know something of our customs," Sten conceded flatly, restraining the urge to reach out and snap the stinking dwarf's thick neck, "but you know nothing of the Qunari." The Arishok would not search for him, and Sten would not hide.

"I know enough to know that you want your soul back," the dwarf countered with a smirk. "How much are you willing to pay for it?"

"No bargaining, Dwyn," Talia countered before Sten could speak. "We'll pay what you paid Faryn, and not a copper more."

"Is that so?" The dwarf's gaze shifted between them. "Doesn't really seem like you're in a position to bargain."

"It's his soul, Dwyn," Talia shot back, impatience lacing her voice and the faintest shift in her posture making it clear that she had noticed the way that the hands of the humans had drifted towards their weapons. "He's not going to bargain to get it back. Either we pay you what it cost you in an even trade, or -"

"Or what?" the dwarf drawled as she paused.

"Or I send her outside and reclaim it, basra," Sten rumbled. He did not reach for the sword secured to his back, did not move a muscle. The first of these kabethari to start to draw a weapon would die, and the rest would quickly share his fate. He had seen them fight; he knew their abilities, knew that he could counter the negligible threat they posed without Talia's assistance.

"Are you that drunk, Dwyn?" Talia demanded irritably. "Which would you rather have in your house: a Qunari that you've given a soul back to or one who has to take it the only way the Qun will let him?"

One of the humans started to growl a challenge, hand closing over the hilt of his sword, but the dwarf stopped him with an upraised hand, eyes darting from the Warden to Sten, apprehension finally overtaking greed. "Didn't know that was the way of it," he said at last. "Figured that since the others paid so well for the ones that weren't even theirs..." He shrugged and made a curt gesture to one of the humans, who immediately stood and left the room, shooting a wary glance at Sten in passing. "You owe me, girl," the dwarf growled, glaring at Talia.

She cocked her head. "Do I? I just saved your life, Dwyn...yours and every other man here. I'd say that you owe me. Now, how much did Faryn charge you?"

The dwarf shook his head. "Not enough to be worth asking for," he grumbled. "The fool didn't have any idea what he had." He glanced back at Sten. "Just you remember that it was Dwyn gave you your soul back."

"I will remember," Sten agreed, not adding that he would also remember the dwarf's greed and ignorance. As long as he remained an ally of the Wardens, Sten would aid him; if he ever became an enemy, he would find out quickly enough how little his forced generosity had gained him.

The human returned holding Asala awkwardly, clearly unused to the weight.

"Is that it?" Talia asked.

"Yes." Sten replied simply. The weapon was a simple sword of steel, the grip wrapped in leather and the pommel and quillions unadorned, but he knew the lines as he knew his own face. He accepted it when the human held it out to him, feeling the familiar heft in his hands, the balance that he had learned over decades to wield as an extension of his will. He looked it up and down, noting the minute nicks and spots of rust that had been overlooked, then nodded his acceptance.

"Don't get too excited, there," the dwarf muttered dryly, turning back to Talia. "Now, unless I've got your soul stashed somewhere, too, how's about you leave us to our game?"

Talia nodded, holding the door open for Sten and closing it behind them. "Looks like it needs a bit of work," she observed quietly. "Let's get back to the castle before the others decide to send a rescue party."

He remained where he was, his gaze shifting from Asala to the Warden. "How did you know that I would not pay the dwarf?" he asked curiously. "I never told you of this."

She shrugged. "It's your soul," she replied. "It just made sense that you wouldn't bargain over something like that. Do your people really pay for the swords of those who have died?"

He nodded and began walking. "Gold is what the people of these lands value," he said. He did not say 'your kind', because she was nothing like the kabethari that the Qunari held in such contempt that the effort to kill them outside of conquest was considered wasteful. "To kill them for their ignorance would serve no purpose."

She nodded thoughtfully, keeping step with him as they strode through the village. Eyes turned as they passed: Asala remained in his hands, the flat of the blade resting on his shoulder. The sword on his back had served him well, and would be left in the Redcliffe armory.

"So," she began after they had left the village and started up the hill toward the castle. "You can return to Seheron to deliver your report to the Arishok now, can't you?"

"I can," he confirmed, but he knew as he spoke that he did not want to return just yet. This human, this Warden, this female, had done what he had never truly considered possible: discovered a single lost sword in a nation at war, and in doing so restored both his soul and his chance to regain his honor. Her determination might have earned her the title of Askaari, "One who seeks", by some, and her courage and honor would undoubtedly result in her being declared Basilit-an by the Arishok, once he had made it known, but neither of these names fit all that she was...or what she was to him.

_To call a thing by its name is to know its reason in the world._ She would have many names, he suspected; no less could be expected of one so complicated, but Sten knew now with perfect clarity what name he would call her by, now and always.

"Will you?" she asked. She was not ordering him away, but giving him a choice, one that required no thought to make.

"I think that the Arishok would receive a more thorough answer if a Qunari were to assist in defeating a Blight," he replied.

She smiled at him. "That makes sense," she agreed. "We leave tomorrow to start looking for Haven."

At one time, he might have questioned her path, but that time was done. She might not be Qunari, but she had proven herself worthy of not only respect but trust; he would keep his oath and follow her until her own duty had been fulfilled. Only then would he return to Seheron, soul and honor both once more intact.

"It shall be as you say, Kadan."


	7. Worth Fighting For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll call this one PG-13, just to be on the safe side. This one takes place after Chapter 40 in the main story. We're getting ready for several chapters of angst in Moments In Time, so I'll be posting some fluff and fun here to offset it.

"Whoops." Talia stumbled sideways a bit, her armor scraping against the stone wall of the corridor, and giggled...actually _giggled_ as Leliana pulled her back to center. It sounded adorable, but it also made the bard worry that she had waited a bit too long to pull her Warden away from the festivities.

But Talia had earned the celebration, after all. She and Alistair had dominated the Proving, defeating all challenges either singly or together, then completing the slap to Bhelen by summoning Gwiddon and Baizyl to fight alongside them in a final match against the Prince's most formidable champions, trouncing them soundly.

Both Grey Wardens had fought magnificently, drawing upon all they had learned in the months of fighting darkspawn and sparring in camp. Both had fought with an honor that earned roars of approval from the onlooking crowd, offering opponents who had dropped weapons or stumbled the chance to recover before continuing. Both had unfailingly displayed their allegiance to their sponsor, bowing to Harrowmont at the start and end of each bout.

Leliana had cheered for them both, but it had been Talia that her eyes followed, watching as her Warden moved around her opponents with a fluid grace, the battle rage nowhere to be seen in the swift but controlled strikes of her sword: not Starfang, but one of the blunted weapons that the Proving provided to all combatants. After each formal bow offered to Harrowmont, her lover had turned, dark eyes finding hers as she lifted her sword in a second, fierce salute, the thin strip of blue silk tied midway between shoulder and elbow fluttering with the motion.

It had been Talia's idea; the Warden had drawn her aside that morning, looking uncharacteristically shy. "In the tournaments at Highever and Denerim, each fighter fights for the honor of someone they care about," she began, biting uncertainly at her lower lip before continuing, "I want to fight for you today."

Leliana stared at her in surprise, feeling a flush of pleasure heating her cheeks. Such customs were also followed in Orlais, of course, but it had not even occurred to her – "Talia," she responded with gentle reproof, "you and Alistair are fighting for Lord Harrowmont today." The alliance with the dwarves was too important to risk insulting the one whose assistance they sought.

"Harrowmont is our sponsor," Talia countered, her jaw set in that stubborn way that meant that she'd already made up her mind. "I asked Baizyl, and he said that it's customary for the warriors to carry the favor of someone besides their sponsor: a family member or a lover. I _have_ to fight for Harrowmont; I _want_ to fight for you." She hesitated, then sank to one knee, catching one of Leliana's hands in her own. "My lady, will you do me the honor of allowing me to fight for you this day?"

Leliana was dimly aware of Alistair and Wynne's indulgent smiles, Morrigan shaking her head in disgust, but she could not look away from the sweetly earnest face that held not a trace of mirth. She'd observed such requests being made before, in another world, another life, but almost without exception, they had been extravagant displays of chivalry: performances put on as much for the benefit of those looking on as for the one being asked. Talia gave no indication that she even noticed the onlookers, her attention focused solely upon Leliana, waiting for her reply.

If she'd had her way, the bard would have pulled her Warden back to her feet, dragged her back to their room and locked the door for the rest of the day. Since that was unfortunately out of the question, she framed Talia's face in her hands and kissed her tenderly, whispering, "I would like that very much, my love."

The assembly area outside of the Proving Grounds had no shortage of merchants catering specifically to last-minute declarations of devotion with various items that could be bestowed and carried as tokens of favor, ranging from simple in design to elaborately embroidered and beaded creations, with price ranges to match. Leliana had dithered over her choice for several minutes before Talia had settled the matter by selecting the unadorned strip of blue silk, declaring it a perfect match to the Orlesian's eyes.

There had been no opportunities for privacy since. The festivities had commenced as soon as the Wardens had been declared the victors, and were still in full swing downstairs at Tapsters. Alcohol flowed like water, but a discreet word from Leliana to their waitress – along with a generous tip – had ensured that Talia was not served the strongest of the dwarvish libations. It was still more than the girl had ever drunk at one sitting, and there had been no shortage of dwarves wanting to buy the next round when she had pulled Talia away to a chorus of catcalls and lewd commentary. The Proving tournaments were a key part of dwarven society, and the victorious fighters had no shortage of potential bedmates. Alistair could have been relieved of his virginity half a dozen times over, but he'd remained glued to his chair with a perpetual blush that only served to intensify the interest in him. Zevran had gallantly stepped into the breach, taking advantage of reflected glory to lure off several of the more amorous dwarf maidens.

She could feel the Warden leaning into her as she unlocked the door to their room and wished they'd taken the time for Talia to remove her armor before attending the celebration. If she fell over in the hallway, Leliana was going to need assistance to drag her inside.

She got the door open and staggered inside with Talia still half-leaning upon her. The Warden straightened, peering around owlishly, and gave the bard a sheepish smile. "Sorry," she offered, the word slightly slurred. "Guess I shouldn't have had the last one." She swayed a bit. "Or two."

"Too tired for a bath?" Leliana kept her tone light, not letting her disappointment at the prospect show, but Talia shook her head.

"Nah. I should get cleaned up before bed, shouldn't I?" There was no trace of guile in the dark eyes; she had evidently forgotten yesterday's discussion about baths.

"You do smell a bit like an armory," Leliana agreed innocently. "I'll fill the tub...unless you need help getting out of your armor?"

Talia shook her head again. "I can do it, but -" She turned slightly, holding out her right arm, the blue silk still tied about it. "Could you get this, please?"

"Of course." Leliana untied the thin strip of material, smoothing it and folding it carefully before placing it on the nightstand beside the bed. It would need to be washed, of course: it had been stained with blood, dust and sweat, but afterward, she would tuck it away to remember this day.

As Talia began the lengthy process of freeing herself from the Warden-Commander's plate, Leliana moved to the tub. Hewn into the stone of the floor itself, with a slight lip at the top to prevent overflow, it was generously sized and deep, sloped at one end to allow reclining: the dwarves did like their luxuries. She lifted the small lever that sealed the drain, then turned the two bronze knobs and tested the water that poured from the spigot, adjusting the flow until the temperature was luxuriously warm. With an ever-present source of lava for heating, the supply of hot water was all but limitless. As the tub began to fill, she slipped out of her own clothes and entered the rising water, reaching for the jars of scented salts and sniffing the contents until she found a delicate blend of jasmine and sandalwood that pleased her. She added a generous scoop to the churning water, sighing in satisfaction as the fragrance immediately swirled upward in the rising steam.

An audible yawn turned her attention to Talia, who was seated on the bench in front of the vanity, removing her leg armor and visibly drooping. A part of Leliana wanted to allow her lover a well deserved nap, but... She glanced down at the nearly full tub and decided on one last enticement.

"Still planning on joining me?" she called out just before she ducked beneath the water. She held herself below the surface for a moment, then stood slowly, tipping her head back to let her wet hair fall back over her shoulders, the warmth of their room suddenly cool on her skin after the heat of the bath.

A clatter reached her ears, and when she opened her eyes, she found Talia on her feet, staring at her with wide eyes and mouth slightly ajar.

"Well?" she inquired coyly, reaching up to push a wayward lock of hair behind one ear.

Hunger flared to life in dark eyes, and Talia took a step forward, nearly tripping over the leg plates that she had just dropped. "I'll...be right there," she managed, blushing to the roots of her hair as she bent to retrieve the obstacle.

Leliana turned away before Talia could see her smile. Nice to know she hadn't lost her touch. The tub was nearly full now, the water lapping just beneath the sluiceway that would prevent overflow, and she shut off the water.

"Is this for swimming or bathing?" Talia wondered, hissing at the heat as she slipped into the water, then studying the proportions of the tub bemusedly. "You could fit four dwarves in here easily!"

"That's probably what was intended," Leliana replied, turning her head to admire the lithe grace of her lover's body, wincing a bit to herself at the sight of dried blood swirling into the water from her skin. Blunted though the weapons had been, they had still been wielded with enough force to wound more than once. Combatants were permitted healing between rounds, and Wynne had seen to Talia's injuries – a gash in a bicep, a stab wound in a thigh, a cut over one eye. All relatively minor, compared to some of the injuries she'd received over the months, and all healed without a scar. "The dwarves are quite fond of their sensual pursuits."

"You mean...?" Talia's eyes blinked, then widened in surprise, and she glanced around the tub again, as though expecting another bathmate or two to have materialized. " _That_ was what that red-haired dwarf was talking about, wasn't it?" She asked suddenly, realization dawning on her face. She couldn't seem to decide whether to be amused or scandalized at the memory of the drunken dwarf's talk of double the fun when she had politely refused his crude offer of a solo assignation by informing him she was spoken for, and the odd expression that she wore when she looked back at Leliana had the bard's stomach clenching anxiously even before she spoke again. "Have you ever done that sort of thing?"

The tightness in her gut intensified. "I – yes." No point in feigning ignorance. Talia might have been sheltered, but she was no fool. She _had_ been with more than one partner at a time in Orlais, and enjoyed herself then, but that had been another lifetime ago. "Yes, I have. More than once, in fact." She made herself meet Talia's eyes, an odd sort of defiance superimposing itself over the shame that was trying to rise. "Does that bother you?"

"Bother me?" Talia's brow creased slightly as she reached out to slip her arms around the bard's waist, drawing them together. "No." She shook her head firmly, but a shadow of uncertainty lingered in her eyes as she added, "I just think sometimes that I must be pretty boring, compared with -"

She got no further; Leliana cut her off with a fierce kiss, her arms twining about the warrior's neck, drawing her down until they were both nearly immersed in the water. "No one has ever fought for me," she whispered, drawing back only as far as was necessary to speak, "not in a tournament, not in life. Not until you. You are everything that I never dared dream of when I was a bard; I could never find you boring, or want anyone else. Please believe that."

"I do." Talia's eyes had softened, the doubt banished, replaced by a sudden gleam of amusement. "But if you kiss me like that again, I may just skip the bath and carry you straight to bed."

"And waste these heavenly bath salts?" Leliana inquired teasingly.

"You smell better," Talia murmured, nuzzling her neck, the brush of her lips sending a shiver down the Orlesian's spine.

"But you still smell like an armory," she countered, though in truth she did not mind the scents of steel and leather that nearly always clung to the Warden. They were the smells of safety, love, home.

"That's never bothered you before," Talia observed, feigning a wounded look.

"That's because we seldom have an alternative," Leliana replied, slipping behind the Warden and drawing her back. Talia willingly relaxed into her touch, allowing the bard to tip her head back, wetting her hair thoroughly and retrieving the bar of perfumed soap from the alcove carved into the side of the tub. Definitely an import from the surface, the rich lather was smooth against her skin as she worked it through Talia's hair, washing away all traces of dust and sweat, letting her fingers massage the scalp. Talia stilled, eyes drifting closed and breath slowing until she had finished rinsing the last of the soap from the dark hair.

"I could get used to this," she murmured lazily as Leliana guided her upright again, turning her head to steal a lingering kiss.

"Not done yet," Leliana informed her, taking up the sponge, which appeared to be a local product, rather than the type harvested at sea: one of the many types of lichens and mosses which grew in the caves, pleasingly soft, with just enough roughness for the task at hand. Not quite all business, she carefully washed the warrior's arms and legs, then moved to her torso, scrubbing gently with the sponge to remove the last of the dried blood, acutely aware of Talia's silent scrutiny.

Moving back behind the Warden, she set the sponge aside and put her hands on the skin of her back, feeling the faint shudder beneath her fingers at the contact as she began to make slow strokes following the planes of muscle beneath the skin, the pressure gentle but firm, starting at the base of the skull, working down the column of the neck, across the shoulders, then along the spine. A low groan thrummed in Talia's chest, and her head drooped forward, but otherwise she did not move, the last of the tension from the day's combat easing as Leliana rinsed the fragrant lather away.

Now...the pressure altered subtly, fingertips gliding over wet skin, feeling the sudden prickle of goosebumps as Talia became aware of the shift, a very different kind of tension building as her touch roamed across shoulders, down arms and back, then lower, beneath the water, exploring slim hips and strong thighs, pressing close to her Warden's back, breathing in the scent of the lavender soap as her parted lips trailed along Talia's shoulder and neck, nipping delicately along the curve of an ear.

"Leli." Talia's voice was a husky whisper as the bard's hands moved up to tease her breasts, her head turning to meet Leliana's lips in a heated clash, and she twisted abruptly, pressing her lover back against the smooth stone, heedless of the water splashing over the sides and onto the floor.

"My turn," she murmured when they parted, dark eyes afire with desire and an intensity that Leliana knew well: her Warden had learned something that she wanted to put into practice.

"I didn't get all sweaty and dirty today," she teased.

"Didn't you say that baths were about more than getting clean?" Talia countered, nipping at the angle of her jaw in a way that obliterated any further obfuscations that she might have offered.

"Yes, I did, my love," she confirmed breathlessly, allowing Talia to deftly reverse their positions, tipping her head back to rest on her lover's shoulder, then further as Talia eased her downward, wetting her hair and working the fragrant soap through it. She let her eyes slip closed, savoring the feel of careful fingers stroking through her hair, gently massaging her scalp.

"I won't break," she offered. Being touched as though she were something precious, fragile, was sweet, but she did not want Talia to be afraid of hurting her.

"I know," Talia replied, rinsing the soap from her hair with the same care, "but I'm still a little fuzzy. I don't want to get soap in your eyes."

She nodded in silent acknowledgment, letting her Warden complete the tender ritual, sighing in contentment as she felt herself being guided upright and the sponge beginning its path across her shoulders and back.

"Too hard?" Talia asked worriedly.

"Not at all, my love," she assured her, abandoning herself to the exquisite sensations: the roughness of the sponge, the silken lather of the soap, the care of her lover's touch. Talia took her time: working out to the fingertips of each hand, then shifting around to reach her legs, her attention seemingly fully focused on her task, taking the sponge from hip to foot with deliberate care. Leliana watched her through half-lidded eyes, noting the faint flush in Talia's cheeks, the slightest tremor in her hands, the adorable way that she caught her lower lip in her teeth, determined to finish what she had started.

Sparks of arousal danced over her skin wherever Talia touched, but she forced herself to remain still as the Warden set soap and sponge aside and moved back behind her, the pressure of her touch altering, deepening to find the muscles beneath in a fair imitation of Leliana's earlier massage. She let her head tip forward, sighing in pleasure as strong fingers stroked along her neck, across her shoulders, down her back, much as she had done to the warrior. There had not been a great deal of tension in her muscles to begin with, but it was still a luxurious sensation.

"You are an apt pupil, love," she murmured. "I'll have to teach you more of the art of massage."

"I like making you feel good," Talia replied, pressing into her back as she rubbed down the bard's shoulders and arms, then wrapping her own arms around Leliana's waist. "You're worth fighting for," she whispered, her lips pressing slow, heated kisses against the fair skin as she abandoned the massage, her hands cupping Leliana's breasts beneath the water, kneading gently at the soft flesh, fingertips circling already taut nipples. The bard arched into the touch with a moan, her breath quickening as one hand left off its attentions to slip lower, fingers tracing patterns over her belly before dipping between her legs.

"Not yet," Talia whispered when she tried to move, the circle of her free arm tightening ever so slightly, but Leliana evaded the gentle restraint, turning and pushing her back against the incline, sending more water sloshing unnoticed over the side. The warrior who had vanquished Orzammar's finest hours before surrendered now without a fight, allowing the Orlesian to press her against the stone, strong hands gliding up Leliana's back to her shoulders as she straddled her Warden's hips and slid her fingers into wet hair, capturing her lips in a fiery kiss.

"You fought for me, my champion," she purred when they parted. "Now claim your prize."


	8. Babes In Toyland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea how to rate this one, so we'll just call it R for 'Read At Your Own Risk". A friend of mine salvaged one of my stories from the ether, I offered her a prompt by way of thanks, and this was the result. It takes place a couple of days after 'Worth Fighting For', after Jarvia and her Carta have been brought down.
> 
> One last note: if you have to ask...don't. At least, don't ask me.

"This place is a maze," Alistair muttered, holding up the lantern as they made their way along a corridor. "How did they find their way around?"

"Stone sense," Talia replied, adding with a shrug, "whatever _that_ is." As they passed a branch in the hallway, she made a mark on the wall with a chunk of limestone to indicate the route they had come from. Jarvia and her Carta had created a city of their own beneath Orzammar: countless winding tunnels and chambers ranging from rough-cut storage rooms and stables for brontos to barracks and torture chambers to luxuriously appointed rooms that would not have been out of place in a noble's mansion. The tunnels seemed deserted now, the surviving members of the Carta having fled following Jarvia's death, but the two Wardens still moved cautiously.

This section appeared to have served as living quarters for Jarvia and her more favored lieutenants, and Leliana had suggested that they search the rooms for evidence of any allies the crime lord might have had. Left unspoken was the slim hope that they might find something incriminating Bhelen, and Talia fervently hoped that they did not find anything tying Harrowmont to Jarvia. It seemed far less likely than an association between the Carta and the ruthless Aeducan heir, but appearances could be deceiving.

They'd already found what appeared to be a study, and Talia had been watching as Leliana and Zevran sorted through papers stacked with surprising neatness atop a carved stone desk when Alistair had nudged her, a quick tilt of his head an invitation to explore that she couldn't refuse. She was restless, irritated with the dwarves in general and Harrowmont in particular.

Despite all the talk about the favor of the Ancestors, winning the Proving evidently hadn't been enough proof for the Assembly to declare Harrowmont king, which was why the noble had tasked them with neutralizing the Carta that had been extending its reach in Orzammar in the chaos that followed King Endrin's death. He hadn't said outright that Bhelen was allied with Jarvia, but the suggestion had hung plainly in the spaces between his words, and Talia knew that if that chance hadn't existed, if Jarvia hadn't expanded her operations beyond Dust Town, the noble would have never considered her a threat worth addressing. And if they didn't find anything to erode Bhelen's support in the Assembly, she knew that Harrowmont would have yet another task for them.

They needed the dwarves as allies, but they couldn't linger here indefinitely while the Assembly dithered and Harrowmont and Bhelen maneuvered around each other like wary dogs seeking an opening. She approached a bronze door, looking it up and down. This section of the Carta's lair had been free of traps thus far, but she still made use of the knowledge she had gained from Leliana and Zevran, looking for any hint of a trigger, any trace of holes in the door-frame that could conceal poisoned darts or blades.

Nothing. She grasped the heavy handle, pushed the door open and stood staring.

"What the -" Alistair's voice over her shoulder, and when she glanced at him, he looked as baffled as she felt.

"Dunno." She stepped inside, peering around. They'd seen a few richly furnished rooms in this part of the lair, but this bedroom could not be described as anything less than opulent. The bed was a large four-poster made of polished mahogany, the canopy and duvet a silken expanse of dusky rose. The other furniture in the room: wardrobe, nightstands, a chest at the foot of the bed, were also made of mahogany, by far the most extensive use of wood that Talia had seen in Orzammar. The dwarves were clever in shaping stone to their needs, and generally took an almost fierce pride in eschewing materials from the surface. "Could this be Jarvia's?"

"Either her or the fellow with the scar and the eye-patch," Alistair quipped, "but pink really didn't seem like his color. Not that it really seemed like Jarvia's, either," he added after a moment's thought.

"No," Talia agreed, approaching the foot of the bed, reaching out to run her fingers across the softness of the fabric that shimmered gently in the light from the flameless lamps that glowed in sconces on the walls. The leader of the Carta had seemed, from the tales told of her and their brief encounter before the fight that led to her demise, to be hard-bitten, ruthless and ambitious. That she might have returned to this room to sleep after a day of thieving, extortion and murder seemed an odd juxtaposition.

She glanced down at the chest at the foot of the bed; there didn't appear to be a lock on it. She crouched in front of it, running her fingers along the lid and seams, finding nothing. Briefly, she considered summoning Leliana or Zev to conduct a more reliable search, then gave a mental shrug and lifted the lid.

"What the -?"

It took her a moment to realize that Alistair had uttered the same words, and she turned to find him standing in front of the open wardrobe, staring at the garment he'd removed.

"What _is_ that?" Momentarily distracted from her own find, she stood and moved to examine the item, which appeared to be made of black leather, polished to a high sheen.

"Armor?" he guessed dubiously.

"Too light," she disagreed, though the form-fitting leggings and upper body piece seemed to have no other function. "Unless it's enchanted?" She fingered the helmet...more a mask, really, with holes for the eyes and mouth and lacing up the back.

"That could be it," he said, then called over his shoulder, "Wynne! Come here, please?"

"Ugly as an ogre's ass," Talia muttered. "Doesn't look like it would be very comfortable, either." She glanced into the wardrobe and drew out a pair of boots made of the same material, holding them up with a perplexed expression. "How in the Void could you fight in these?" she demanded, pointing at the thin and elongated heels.

"Maybe she just wanted to be taller?" Alistair suggested, though he looked no less puzzled. "Morrigan's right: dwarves do seem like they need to overcompensate – oh, Wynne, there you are!"

"Yes, dear," the mage smiled as she entered the room. "What do you -" She broke off, blinking. "What is...that?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," Alistair replied. "Looks like armor of some kind, but it's too light to be of any use unless it's enchanted. Could you tell what kind of magic? It wouldn't fit Leli or Zev -"

"Not that they'd wear the ugly thing anyway," Talia opined.

"True," Alistair conceded. "But we could sell it. So, what do you think?" He held the armor out to Wynne, but the mage stepped back quickly.

"I think it's...not enchanted," she said with an odd expression on her face, her blue eyes shifting between them.

"Really? You can tell just like that? You don't have to do anything magey?" He looked more than a little disappointed. "You know what I mean!" he said when one eyebrow arched.

"No, I don't have to do anything 'magey'," she sighed, "and I'm quite certain that there is no magic in it. I'd suggest putting it back where you found it," she added, eying the armor with the same odd expression. "You...don't know where it's been."

"What did she mean by that?" Alistair wondered after the mage had left the room.

"Dunno," Talia shrugged, "but if it's not enchanted, there's no reason to keep it anyway." She pitched the strange boots back into the wardrobe and grabbed his arm. "Besides, you need to see the weird stuff in this chest."

They knelt in front of the chest, and Talia pulled out the first item that had caught her eye. "I've seen mabari collars like this," she said, fingering the spikes on the leather collar and manacles, all three linked together by a lightweight but sturdy chain, "but this looks like it's made for a person." "Maybe she kept people captive in here?" he suggested, glancing around dubiously.

"Tortured them?" Reaching into the chest himself, he pulled out a leather riding crop and a short whip with multiple lashes sprouting from its handle, holding them up with a grimace. "Creepy."

"Maybe." Talia set the collar and manacles aside and reached back into the chest. "But what did she do with this?" She withdrew a stick with feathers tied to one end. "Tickle them to death?"

"I'm ticklish," he replied. "That can actually be pretty evil, actually."

She shot him a sideways look and a sly grin. "You? Ticklish?" She stuck the feathers under his chin, and he swatted them away.

"Not there. My feet. At the Chantry, some of the older boys would hold me down and tickle my feet until I was screaming. It _can_ be torture, believe me." He reached out for the feathers, looking dubious. "Don't know that these would do it, though."

"No?" she twitched the feathers away from his hand and brushed them under his ear.

"Hey!" he squawked indignantly, glancing briefly at the crop and whip before dropping them and diving back into the chest to come up with -

"What is _that_?" Talia eyed the strand of smooth wooden beads, each one slightly larger than the one before.

"Necklace?" Alistair wrapped it around his neck. "No, no clasp...and not much to look at." He gave the strand an experimental whirl, striking it against her armor with a light _ting_. "I bet it'd sting against bare skin."

"Sting?" Talia looked at him skeptically. "That's torture? And what are these?" She pulled out a handful of rings: stone, metal, wood, all polished as smooth as the beads, and ranging in size from a couple of inches in diameter to large enough to serve as a bracelet...which Alistair proved by slipping the largest, a circlet of polished jade, over one wrist.

"Not bad, but still pretty plain," he said, holding up his arm and frowning at the adornment. "Maybe they're enchanted?"

"To do what?" Talia demanded, glancing around in mild exasperation at the odd assortment of loot. "None of this stuff makes any sense."

He shrugged. "She was a little crazy." He peered into the chest again, his face brightening with recognition. "A sap?" he suggested, pulling out a cylinder of stitched leather perhaps eight inches in length. "She was a thief, right?"

"Yeah, but -" She took it from him, hefting it experimentally. "It's not even weighted, Alistair." It was fairly rigid, but whatever it had been stuffed with was lightweight. "You couldn't hurt anyone with this," she said, reaching out and tapping him on the forehead for emphasis.

"No? How about this one?" he said, ducking away and snatching up another, this one made of wood, better than a foot long, and as thick as her wrist. It was shaped a bit oddly, but before Talia could get a closer look, he'd bonked her on the head with it.

"Ow! That hurt!"

"I rest my case," he said smugly.

"Oh, you'll rest, all right!" She grabbed another of the odd clubs, this one shorter but with the satisfying weight of stone, and scrambled to her feet, grinning. "One shot with this and Shale will be carrying you back!"

"You've got to hit me first!" he taunted her as he jumped up, brandishing his own weapon with a flourish. "Mine's bigger!"

"You know what they say: it's not the size..." The Wardens jumped in unison at Zevran's voice and turned to find the elf standing in the doorway with Leliana. The bard's mouth hung open, a handful of papers forgotten and an expression that wavered between hilarity and dismay chasing across her features. The Antivan, on the other hand, wore a broad grin of unbridled amusement.

"Oh...hi." Alistair looked a bit embarrassed at having been caught at the horseplay. "We were just looking in here for stuff, and we found...well, I don't know _what_ we found, exactly, but -" He broke off, glaring suspiciously at Zevran, whose smile had only widened. "You know, don't you?" he said with the expression of someone who already knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Oh, yes, I do," the assassin assured him. Leliana, in the meantime, had dropped her face into her free hand, shaking her head slowly while odd hiccuping noises escaped from behind her palm. "Alistair, look closely at what you are holding. I would hope that it looks at least vaguely familiar...to you, anyway."

The Warden's eyes narrowed, but he did as Zevran said. " _Oh!_ " His eyes suddenly grew wide, and he dropped the carved wood as if it had burned him, holding up the hand that had been grasping it while his face paled, then flamed bright scarlet. "Oh...oh...oh...oh, _Maker_..." He dove between Leliana and Zevran and out of the room, the words, "Bath...hot... _now_!" fading in his wake.

Talia stared after him, exasperated irritation warring with what she strongly suspected was going to be acute embarrassment. "All right, what am I missing?" she demanded, her eyes going from the object she still held to the one Alistair had dropped, trying to figure out what had horrified her friend so greatly.

"Come on." Leliana had gotten herself back under control, resigned humor gleaming in her eyes as she approached and gently took the stone carving from Talia's hand, passing it to Zevran, who was surveying their find with a connoisseur's eye. Grasping the Warden's wrist, she drew her toward the door. "I'll tell you later."

* * *

She found him in Tapsters and sat down in a chair next to him, neither of them looking the other in the eye. Neither of them spoke until the waitress had approached and Talia had ordered a mug of Valenta's Red.

When they were alone again, she glanced down at the pink and well-scrubbed skin of his hands and arms. "How long -"

"Thirty minutes," he replied tersely, taking a drink from his mug. "Hot water, lots of soap."

"Yeah, me too."

"At least you had help," he grumbled.

"If you call her sitting beside the tub and giggling like a lunatic helpful," Talia replied morosely.

Another long silence, during which the waitress brought Talia her ale, then, "Did she tell you what -"

"Yeah," came the clipped reply. She stole a sideways glance at him, smirking slightly as she added, "She told me what some of the other stuff was, too."

"I don't want to know," he said firmly. "Not until I've had a lot more to drink."

She nodded. If it had been anyone but Leliana telling her, she probably wouldn't have believed them...and she definitely would have been much more embarrassed than she already was. Besides, if she told him, he'd likely head straight back to the bath again. "She also said they found correspondence between Bhelen and Jarvia," she offered. "Hopefully that will be enough to sway the assembly."

"Hopefully," he echoed, taking another drink. "Because I am _not_ snooping around any more dwarven bedrooms. You realize that if Morrigan ever finds out, we'll never hear the end of it, don't you?"

"I know," Talia replied. The witch probably wouldn't harass her too much, but Alistair would be another matter. "I've already told Zev what happens to him if he tells her." She wasn't worried about Leliana or Wynne.

He nodded. "Good. So we're agreed, then?"

"Yup." She took a long drink of her ale. "It never happened."


	9. Another Night, Another Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of M-rated fluff to offset the angst in the main story. This one takes place in between the evening and morning in chapter 49.

"He really threatened to thrash you?" Talia couldn't seem to decide whether to be amused or irritated.

Leliana laughed softly, closing the door to their room behind her. "He was joking, Talia. I cannot picture your brother raising his hand to a woman."

Her lover snorted. "You've never been up against him in the practice ring, then. He gave me some of the worst bruises I can remember. He never took it easy on me." A brief pause, then, "I never wanted him to, though, and I'm glad he didn't."

"As am I," Leliana agreed, seating herself on the bench before the vanity and reaching up to remove the necklace of lapis, pearl and amber that Isolde had given her. The braided strands had perfectly complemented the midnight blue velvet dress that she wore.

"Let me," Talia said softly, stepping behind her and brushing her hair aside to reach the clasp. Her hair had grown out considerably, and while Talia had opted for her now customary braid, Leliana had chosen a tumble of curls to fall artfully over bare shoulders, and though her Warden had teased her over the time it took her to prepare, she had clearly approved of the result.

She shivered pleasantly at the feel of Talia's fingers trailing through her hair and along her neck before moving to release the catch on the necklace. "Shall I brush it?"

She smiled at the question, accepting the necklace from Talia and laying it on the vanity, picking up the hairbrush. "You have to ask?" she teased, holding the brush over her shoulder.

"Just being polite," Talia replied in the same vein, taking it and settling on the bench beside her. Leliana closed her eyes with a happy sigh. Having someone tending her hair had always been a luxurious sensation, and her lover brought a tender intimacy to the ritual, interspersing soft kisses to her neck and shoulders as she drew the brush through the auburn curls.

"I'm glad that you two got to talk," Talia said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Do you like him?"

Something in her voice made the bard open her eyes and turn to regard her lover. "I do," she replied, "but there was more to that question than your desire that we get along, I think?"

Talia nodded, smiling faintly. "You know me well, my bard," she murmured, setting the brush aside and wrapping her arms around Leliana's waist, resting her head on her shoulder. "I have...an idea. I just don't know if it's a good one."

Leliana listened as Talia spoke, surprise giving way to appraisal, then approval. Fergus as king? Given his lineage, he would be a sound political choice; his leadership of the rebellion would ensure the support of the nobles wearied by the tyrannies of Loghain and Howe, and - while it might be cynical and calculating, it was no less true that his losses at the hands of Rendon Howe would only add to the perception of him as a heroic figure who had overcome daunting misfortune. On a more personal level, she could easily picture the levelheaded, calm young noble with the sly sense of humor as just the type of of wise, compassionate and brave monarch that Ferelden would need to face the Blight and heal its wounds afterward.

"I think that it is a marvelous idea, my love," she said when Talia had finished, smiling at her with affection and more than a little pride. She had come so far from the grieving and angry girl of Lothering; more than a noble now, or a warrior, more even than a Grey Warden. She had shouldered decisions that would shape the fate of nations, and while the weight of that responsibility clearly troubled her, she did not shirk from it. "Fergus would make a splendid king."

Talia gave her a shy smile, clearly pleased by the praise. "I thought so, but I'm probably biased." She wrinkled her nose. "Now to convince Eamon. I know he's got his heart set on Alistair, but -"

She trailed off with a grimace, and Leliana nodded. Privately, she thought it likely that Eamon's reasons were due to more than patriotism, but she kept those musings to herself, saying only, "Alistair is not so poorly suited for the throne as he thinks himself, but if he is unlikely to father a child, then Ferelden would eventually find itself once more without an heir."

"Yes." Talia's embrace tightened slightly, her dark eyes troubled. "I know that Alistair would be a good king, and I know that I'm not doing Fergus any favors by putting him forward. I need to talk to him about it before -"

"No." Talia looked surprised at the Orlesian's disagreement, but Leliana went on. "Eamon will resist the idea, simply because his heart is set on Alistair, whether because he is his nephew or for less sentimental reasons. If he thinks that your brother seeks the crown for his own ends, his resistance will be stronger. The best way to dispel that notion is to reveal your plan to them all: Eamon, Alistair and Fergus, at the same time. True surprise is difficult to conceal, and even harder to feign." There was a twinge of shame at teaching her lover to manipulate in the way that she had once done without hesitation or conscience, even though she knew that the cause it would further was a worthy one. "Unless you think he might refuse?"

Talia shook her head. "He'll do it, I know him." She sighed, looking unhappy. "I think you're right about surprising him with it, but I wish there was another way...another candidate. He's never been able to mourn Oriana and Oren properly...or our parents."

"Neither have you," Leliana reminded her, kissing her cheek.

"No," Talia agreed, "but I have you. He and Oriana loved each other so much, but if he's king, he'll have to marry again, for politics, not love. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but Ferelden needs a king, and the Wardens have their own duty. With only two of us to kill the archdemon-"

"I know." That terrifying encounter in the Deep Roads had been haunting Talia's dreams, bringing her out of sleep sweat-soaked and trembling on more nights than not. Leliana had caught the looks that passed sometimes between the two Wardens. She knew what they were thinking, knew what the odds were, but she could not bear to dwell upon it. She would follow her love to whatever fate awaited them, but until then...

"I was disappointed that Eamon had no musicians in the hall tonight," she said, quite deliberately changing the subject, her fingers toying with a stray wisp of hair that had escaped Talia's braid. "I was hoping to be able to dance with you again."

Talia laughed softly, accepting the shift, as Leliana had hoped she would. Brooding over what the future held would accomplish nothing, after all. "That would have made Fergus' night," she murmured. "He couldn't stop gloating about me wearing a dress." She glanced down at the emerald green velvet gown that she wore with an air of good-natured resignation. "It's not so bad, I suppose, but it's not really practical."

"You look beautiful," Leliana chided her, rolling her eyes. "Your brother was quite proud of you. He would have enjoyed seeing you dance, I think."

"Not if he had to dance with me," Talia countered, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. "He always complained that I stepped all over his feet."

"Accidentally, I'm sure." Talia's laugh was all the answer Leliana needed. Rising from the bench, she caught the warrior's hands in her own, drawing her up and to the center of the floor, glad of the spacious size of the room. "I think that that I will require that dance of you, my love."

"Did you smuggle a musician in here while I wasn't looking?" Talia inquired amusedly, making a show of looking around.

"I am a bard, you goose!" Leliana exclaimed with mock indignation. "Or do you not think I can provide suitable music to dance to?"

"I think that I would dance with you whether there was music or not," her Warden answered promptly, sliding her arms around her waist with a look that made the Orlesian's heart quicken in anticipation.

"You are developing quite the silver tongue, my love," Leliana purred.

"Only for you," Talia murmured, bending to nuzzle at her neck, just below her ear, and Leliana went still, her hands resting on Talia's shoulders, savoring the brush of her lips, the warmth of her breath. "Music?" the Warden asked after a moment.

"Tease," Leliana accused with an exaggerated sigh, more than willing to wait, to draw this time out as long as possible. Tomorrow, the planning would begin, and the inexorable progress to the Landsmeet - and the confrontation with the archdemon - would start in earnest. Here and now belonged to them alone.

The tune she hummed was a simple one, the meter easy to follow, and Talia swirled her into the opening steps with a flourish. There was no hesitation tonight, no hiding of emotions, and the warmth of Talia's gaze as they moved together had an answering fire racing over the skin of Leliana's shoulders and neck, a slow blaze kept simmering by frequent, fleeting touches of lips and fingers. With no watching eyes, her Warden was playful and bold, holding her far closer than propriety would have dictated in mixed company, twirling her out and drawing her back, then dipping her low, strong arms supporting her as she was drawn back up with deliberate slowness, lips tracing a heated path from the tops of her breasts up and along her throat to her chin, causing the hum to falter.

"Something wrong?" Talia asked innocently, setting her back on her feet. "You look a little flushed. Should we stop?" Her eyes were dancing with mirth, but underneath...oh, yes.

Leliana shook her head. "Not a chance, unless the mighty Warden is growing tired already." There was no doubt at all where this would end, but it had been far too long since she had felt such a breathless, heady sense of delight. Talia was becoming skilled in lovemaking, and she enjoyed pleasing her bard, but it was new for her to take the initiative so inventively, and Leliana was of a mind to enjoy it to the fullest.

Her saucy challenge had the intended effect. With a low laugh, Talia caught her hand, raising it to her lips for a kiss before resuming the dance. For a time, Leliana attempted to vary the tune that she hummed, changing the tempo and meter, but Talia adapted smoothly to each shift, and eventually, the press of her lover's body, the teasing caresses and soft kisses became entirely too distracting. She retreated to the ease of a simple tune, abandoning herself to this exquisite seduction, swaying and swirling, touching and being touched. Eventually, even the simple melody died on her lips once more, and they moved to nothing but the beat of their hearts until Talia brought it to an end by pulling Leliana fully into her arms and claiming her lips in a deep, hungry kiss.

Leliana moaned softly, her arms sliding around Talia's neck, feeling her Warden's hands moving over her back, finding the lacing of her gown and drawing it through the eyelets, slipping beneath to caress bare skin as the dress was eased downward. Leliana tipped her head back, her breath coming faster, Talia's mouth at her throat, teeth nipping gently at the pulse point, tongue tracing fire over the skin. She allowed her arms to be lowered and eased from the sleeves of the dress, feeling the bodice falling against the skirt, the air in the room cool against her breasts until the heat of Talia's mouth was upon her, teeth and tongue teasing one nipple to a near painful hardness as nimble fingers tended the other, an arm circling her waist supporting her as her legs wavered.

Her hands came up, fingers weaving into Talia's braid and soft sounds of need escaping her throat when her lover sucked and nuzzled first at one breast, then the other. The lacing of the skirt was loosened, and the dress slipped over her hips and legs to pool on the floor as Talia began walking her backwards, toward the bed. Her legs touched the mattress, and she sat, guiding Talia's mouth back to her own, tongues sparring with ever rising fervor. When she tried to draw Talia onto the bed with her, the Warden pulled back, a sly smile touching her lips as her hands slipped down the Orlesian's sides to her hips, fingers hooking around the cloth of her smallclothes and tugging them down her legs, sinking to her knees as she did so.

Gentle fingers lifted her leg, and Leliana raised her head to find Talia's dark eyes fixed on hers, her hands cradling the bard's slipper-clad foot. It was the same blue satin pair she'd worn at the fete they had attended here in the fall; while dresses could be altered in a comparatively short time, shoes were not so easily adapted. Besides, such lovely slippers had surely deserved to be worn more than once, no matter if their royal blue color did not quite match her gown. She had expressed that sentiment aloud to Talia earlier that evening, much to the Warden's affectionate amusement.

A hint of that amusement mingled with the passion in Talia's eyes now, the slightest touch of a smile on her lips as she turned her gaze downward, fingers unlacing the delicate satin ribbons, pulling the shoe off and setting it aside. Leliana's breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes as teeth and tongue alternated attentions on her ankle, then along her foot, then each toe in turn. It...tickled, yes, but that was all but lost beneath waves of pleasure that made her curl her fingers tight into the blankets beneath her, hips already rocking slightly in anticipation. The other shoe, then, and the same, slow treatment of the other foot, and she was whimpering, the slow blaze consuming her now, her body demanding more and quickly, even as heart and soul reveled in the gloriously drawn out foreplay.

_Sweet Maker!_ Talia was kissing her way back up one leg, her swirling, stroking fingers meticulously mirroring her mouth's progress on the other. The brush of lips, the delicate graze of teeth, the warm sweep of a tongue...she took her time, exploring every inch of skin, until Leliana's body was keyed to a fever pitch by the time Talia reached the apex of her thighs and...stopped.

Leliana waited, panting, eyes still shut tight; her lover did not move, but she could feel her breath, what was she waiting for? A dozen racing heartbeats, two dozen, and she opened her eyes, lifting her head to utter some plea, but as soon as her gaze met Talia's, her Warden gave her a smile that nearly finished her right there and moved the last precious inches, her hungry eyes never leaving the bard's face as her tongue made the first, slow sweep against the drenched folds.

Leliana's hips shot straight off the bed, a breathless cry tumbling from her lips, but Talia caught her, hands drawing her back down and holding her steady as she settled in. Leliana had been sure that the slightest touch would be the end of her, but Talia gently eased her back from that edge, drawing her slowly and surely toward another peak instead. Her tongue pressed shallow, then deep, then circled lightly around that unbearably sensitive bundle of nerves, knowing, it seemed, exactly what would be too much and changing her tactics just shy of that point without ever truly stopping. The constantly shifting sensations left Leliana's senses reeling, her body caught in a slow spiral of pleasure, with Talia leading her ever up...

_Fingers slipping into her, filling her perfectly, moving in and out in a slow cadence that her hips matched._

...and up...

_Lips finding that sensitive nub, sucking gently in time with the slow thrust of the fingers._

...and up...

_The fingers pressing deep and curving just so, finding her core just as the velvet heat of a tongue flickered over -_

"Talia!" Her heels dug into the Warden's back as her climax shattered her completely, her throaty cries filling the room, body rising and falling with the waves of ecstasy, Talia matching every motion with one of her own, drawing the pleasure out until Leliana shuddered and sagged back against the bed with a soft gasp, her body feeling utterly boneless, the aftershocks still thrumming deliciously along her nerves.

She felt Talia moving, stretching out beside her, and opened her eyes to find that her Warden had divested herself of her own dress, and was smiling down at her with a smug tenderness that was at least as appealing as the adorable look of surprise that was no longer so easy to elicit.

"I hope that makes up for me being so clueless during our first dance," Talia murmured, brushing a sweat-dampened lock of hair away from her forehead as she leaned in for a kiss.

Leliana had to laugh, even as she pretended to think about it. "It's a start," she replied with a mischievous smile, wrapping her arms around her Warden and pulling her back down.


End file.
